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fcarrarR coUegc Xlbrar? 






JUNE 11. 1932 





Hairdresser to Queen Marie-Antoinette 





With Two Portraits 




I Sg; 

FA/ /32.lj:z, 02. 





JUNE II, 1932 



Chapter I. 

The Court installed at the Tuileries — My secret errand to Versailles — The 
Queen's bed stabbed with daggers — The deserted Chateau— Marie Antoinette's 
opinion of Bailly — Pusillanimity of the courtiers- Return of Mademoiselle Bertin 
and Madame Du Barry — Flight of Madame de Polignac — The conferences 
between the Due d'Orl^ans and Mirabeau — I receive a black eye — My assaillant 
receives a drubbing — Lucette — The Comte de Genlis — I entnist Lucette with a 
mission. P^^e i 

Chapter II. 

Lucette returns — A pseudo-Milady — A t6te-i-t6te at le Raincy — The Comte 
de Genlis* gallant intentions — A certificate of fidelity — Lucette's report — Mirabeau 
an Orleanist — He wavers in his adherence to the cause — An outline of the 
hitter — I give Marie Antoinette an accoimt of Lucette's mission — And discuss 
with her the chances of a defection on the part of Mirabeau — The Queen 
sends me to the tnbunc to sound him as to his intentions. Page 19 

Chapter III. 

Mirabeau's house — I am sent by the Queen to seek an interview with him — 
My apprehensions — I have a conversation with the tribune — The real character 
of the interviews between the Queen and Mirabeau — The g^eat orator endeavours 
to induce the Court to adopt a political system — The King and Queen refuse — 
The Queen's antipathy to La Fayette — I am entrusted with an important 
mission — A marshal's baton for the Marquis de Bouill^ — My nocturnal departure. 

Page 32 

Chapter IV. 

It is proposed that the Queen and the Children of France shall go to 
Brussels— Marie Antoinette refuses to leave the King before he is in safety — 
A natural deduction from this fact — The vicissitudes of my journey — My rough 
apprenticeship as a horseman — The little shepherd — The sham carter — My letter 
to the Marquis de Bouilld — A coiffeur godfather to a Marshal of France — Bouill6*s 
anxiety. Page 47 

Chapter V. 

The result of a political mission declared on a carriage-step — The patterns — 
Mademoiselle Berlin's embarrassment — Her advice to the Queen — Count Fersen — 
The wrong turning — The Queen goes on foot in the mud — The noble coachman — 
Departure of the Royal Family on the night of the 19th of June, 1791. 

Page 57 


Chapter VI. 

I endeavour to excuse M. de BouiJl^ to the Queen — Her Majesty's sinister 
forebodings — Marie Antoinette and Bamave — The maladroit friends of the 
Court — The sublime devotion of the Princ6ssc de Lamballe — The horrible news 
of her assassination — The principal reason for my departure for England — Maria 
Theresa's diamonds. Page 67 

Chapter VII. 

My arrival in London — The Golden Cannon — English soup — ^I'^'ricassee of 
chicken — Madame T * * * — The artificial flower-makers and the priests — The 
Chevahdre d'£on in London— I meet Juhe, the fairy of the Th^&tre Nicolet. 

Page 75 

Chapter VIII. 

Julie's Story. Page 83 

Chapter IX. 

William the jeweller — His arrogant honesty — An English peculiarity — The 
treasures of the Arabian NighU — Black diamonds — Gastronomic graces — English 
music — The romance of a night. Page 91 

Chapter X. 

JuUe's Story {continued). Page 100 

Chapter XI. 

The Comtesse de La Motte in her London home— Juhe's Story {concluded). 

Page 106 

Chapter XII. 

The emigrants in London— Their industry, artifices, and intrigues— The 
marquis's tnmk — The inventory of a treasure. Page 134 

Chapter XIII. 

I leave London — Lovers' correspondence — Honorary* paternity — Commencement 
of the war — M. Ic Comtc d'Artois' head-quarten — His Royal Highness' archives 
— The sword of Catherine IL Page 138 

Chapter XIV. 

A letter from Monsieur to Pnncc Hohenlohe— Warlike lettt^rs of the emigrants— 
Love-letters — A diplomatic note — Madame de Balby's adnce — Monsieur does 
not follow it Page 146 

Chapter XV. 

The Court of the Princes at Verdun — Neglected archives — A corre»pon<lence 
full of despair — A circular of Calonne's annotated in red ink by Latour 
d'Auvergne — A relation of Chcvert's— A Royahst proclamation to the Fn-nch 
pcople--Saint-lYiest — Monsieur's opinion on the ex-minister's manifesto. Page 154 

Chapter XVI. 

My farewell audience of Monsieur — An<! of M. le Comte d'Artois — Nei^-s of the 
death of the Vicomte de Miral>eau — The Comte d'Artois* refl«H-tiona — Ix>uis XVI. *» 
hair-dreftsing rdit-t — The King as ins)>e<-tor of ludicA* rosturoe — Hair-dn*ssing in 
numerical order — 'ITic Princes* carriagt^ %eixed for debt — The distz«*ss of thr 
rmigranii — Re-appeaiancc of Madame I>u Barry. Page 107 


Chapter XVII. 

The handsome masquerader — Explanations — Projects — The Royalist colony — 
British policy — A morning visit — Blache the Republican — A scene at William's 
door — The little shoe-black. Page 177 

Chapter XVIII. 

The report of the spy — Hostile projects against me — ^Juhe's warning — My leap 
from the window — The flower- maker's bedroom — An embarrassing hospitality — 
It was bound to end like that. Page 185 

Chapter XIX. 

Reflections — Madame Du Barry visits Pitt — The British sorcerer — Tragic end of 
young Maussabr6 — A treasure worthy of the Arabian nights — Expulsion of French 
from England — Madame Du Barry returns to France — My fantastic vision. 

Page 191 

Chapter XX. 

Julie philosophizes — She becomes a Polish patriot — Less money and more activ- 
ity — Illustrious beggars — I leave London with Julie. Page 202 

Chapter XXI. 

A packet-crossing — A Coimtess selling cheese — The bagman — A letter from a 
Princess in the style of the markets — Prince Louis of Prussia — His favourite 
statue — Madame de Stadl and Madame de R^camier — Teutonic tributes. 

Page 205 

Chapter XXII. 

The floating inns of the Low Countries — A revival of love — A sorrowful separa- 
tion — A sketch of the times — Monsieur's opinion on the revolutionary excesses 
and the advantages which his cause may hope to derive from them. Page 214 

Chapter XXIII. 

I meet the famous Baron Trenck — The truth concerning his Memoirs — The ad- 
venturer's plan of campaign — He is guillotiiaed — Revolutionary delirium — Conclu- 
sions drawn by the Comtc de Provence. Page 218 

Chapter XXIV. 

Death of the Queen — How the Princes received the news — Some papers in 
Robespierre's handwriting seized upon the person of a French officer — Curious 
notes of his political opinions — A letter from a Spanish ambassador — Extraordin- 
ary details contained in it — A deputy's love-affairs — New details concerning the 
Queen's last moments — The trial and execution of Madame Du Barry. Page 224 

Chapter XXV. 

The situation of France and the armies — The plight of the emigration — Events 
in Poland in 1794 — Kosciuszko and Count and Countess Delvinski — A military 
decoration on a woman's breast — The two fugitives — A conversation on politics 
and a narrative — Departure for Italy — Separation. Page 235 

Chapter XXVI. 

The Court of Louis XVIII. at Verona — Letters patent written at the end of the 
eighteenth century in the style of the sixteenth — A Latin epitaph composed by 
Louis XVIII. — ^The biography of His Majesty's aunts — The King cleverly leads 
up to a request for money. Page 244 


Chapter XXVII. 

I>ouLs XVIII. joins Condi's army — Ref^ments four rire — ^The Austrian major — 
Tho policy of the Aulic Council and of the Court of St James relative to Louis 
XVIII. — I'he King stites his views in council at Blankenburg — A description of 
that town — And of the city of Brunswick — The bath- woman. Pag:^ 253 

Chapter XXVIII. 

Laure's Story. Page 261 

Chapter XXIX. 

I continue Xm be the banker of the unfortunate — Three pairs of cotton stockings 
for 12,000 francs — A general's widow becomes a coco- vendor — Barras and 
Madame Tallien — Vanity the motive power in everj'thing. Pstge 277 

Chapter XXX. 

Stockwasser's manufactory — A miniature Versailles in a tin-merchant's work -shops 
— Misery and pride — I^ouis XV^III at Mittau — A letter from Countess Delvinski — 
A glance at the Court at Mittau — I decide to resume my comb — I prepare to 
set out for .St. Petersburg — My parting interview with Louis XVIII. Page 282 

Chapter XXXI. 

I arrive at St. Petersburg — An audience of the Emperor Paul I. — The Empress 
Maria FetKlorovna — Portrait of Paul I. — I become a coiffeur again — A picture 
of Kuuian .Society — Madame Demidoff — My baurgeai* existence — Descriptions of 
life in .St. Petersburg — Various details. Page 289 

Chapter XXXII. 

Further description^ — St. Peter's Day at the Pal.ace of Petershoff — French 
emigrants in St. IVti'rsburg — How to get rid of a conjugal rival — M. le Due de 
Vicence — Death of I*aul I. — A curled and paintinl corpse — Why I did not return 
to, France in 1800 — My cxpectctions in 18 14. Page 299 

Chapter XXXIII. 

A wr>rd rm Monseigncur le Ihic d'Angoul^me's honeymoon — A glance at the 
Tuileriesi in 181 4 — .\nd at new Paris — M. le Comte d'Artois' memory — 1 
re^-eive an employment at Court Page 304 

Chapter XXXIV. 

Doubtful tl«»bt»— The official of the ci\nl list— Coimt .ind Counti'ss Delvinski — 
I.ucrtte n'ap|»«*ar* ujxin the s<H-ne — \ second ( )|>«''ra»Coraique theatr«* — My 
efforts to obtain the privilege of opening it P^ge 308 

Chapter XXXV. 

The family council at the Pavilion de Marsan — Petitions and their usual fate — 
Till* ♦•ffrcts of a dinner — I Ixvome Orilercr-in-Chief of .State Funerah— 
My instillation .... ly*onard at the funeral of the Pnncc de Cond^ — Death «if 
I^''onard. Pagt* 314 


The Court installed at the Tuileries — My secret errand to Versailles — The 
Queen's bed stabbed with daggers— The deserted Chlteau — Marie Antoinette's 
opinion of Bailly — Pusillanimity of the courtiers — Return of Mademoiselle Bertin 
and Madame Du Barry — Flight of Madame de Polignac — The conferences 
between the Due d'Orl6ans and Mirabeau — I receive a black eye — My assailant 
receives a drubbing — Lucctte — The Comte de Genlis — I entrust Lucette with a 

I SAW Louis XV L, his wife, his sister, his children, removed by 
force from the Palace in which twenty of Henry IV. 's descendants 
had seen the light, and led almost captive to Paris, escorted by 
eighty thousand drunken, ragged pretorian guards. I saw the 
Court, but recently so sumptuous, installed at the Tuileries, 
where at first even the strictest necessaries were wanting. I saw 
the most luxurious Princess on earth seated with red, streaming 
eyes by the side of a smoky hearth, on which no fire had been 
lighted since six and sixty years. I saw her women bruise their 
fingers as they clumsily nailed strips of cloth to the doors of 
the room, in order to keep out the draughts that whistled 
through the crevices .... 

And my heart overflowing with pity pity for the King 

and Queen of the greatest empire in the world, I returned to 
Versailles to hasten the arrival of the various services and to 
collect a number of articles which the Queen was not able to 
dispense with. 

When I reached the Chateau, there remained but a few old 
retainers, who had been kept back by the slowness appertaining 
to their age, or perhaps by the regret of leaving that Palace in 
which they had been bom and in which they hoped to die . . . 
And on every side I found the silence of abandonment, the 
traces of a precipitate departure, which terror had rendered 
forgetful and distraught .... Many a thick volume might be 
filled with a recital of what I noticed in the rooms of certain 

VOL. n. I 


of the ladies who had fled : indiscreet billets which they had left 
behind; letters on which the ink had barely dried, carrying 
sweet vows to the banks of the Rhine, upon which the pen, 
falling from a trembling hand, had blotted the words love, 
affection, desire, delight, which so often reappeared in these 
tender missives. 

In the Queen's apartments I collected a number of articles 
that were of value through the associations attached to them : 
portraits of which I shall not name the originals, documents 
whose contents shall die in my secret thoughts. My errand 
was to hunt out everything, to take up everything, to read 
everything, because Her Majesty knew that Leonard knew how 
to forget everything .... Nothing had been moved in Marie 
Antoinette's room since her nocturnal flight. The gown which 
Her Majesty had worn on the evening of the 5th of October, 
the kerchief beneath which her heart had beat violently at the 
approach of the mob from Paris, the silk stockings, turned inside 
out, which the Queen had taken off on retiring to rest, the fine 
cambric which the Queen had laid aside to don her night- 
dress, all lay scattered over the chairs; and under Her Majesty's 
bed, I found the slippers which the daughter of Maria Theresa 
had not found time to put on ... . For the unhappy Princess 
had really escaped by but a few moments the dagger of the 
assassins .... I saw the gilded panels of the door lying on the 
floor, shattered to pieces .... The wind whistled through the 
wide opening through which the ruffians had gained admittance. 
They had smashed the mirrors of the room with blows of their 
muskets, doubtless to punish the unoffending crystal for having 
reflected the features of the woman whom they had been pre- 
vented from assassinating .... And their rage had spent itself 
upon Her Majesty's couch. Furious at feeling it still penetrated 
with the warmth oT the Queen's body, they pierced with the 
thrusts intended for her fair bosom, sheets, mattress, quilt and 
curtains. Shall I confess it ? I was guilty of an infidelity that 
evening, an abuse of confidence which I should not venture to 
repeat in these Memoirs if the august daughter of the Caesars 
were still living: I folded with care the sacred fabric on which 
my Sovereign's charms had reposed that night, and placed it, 
with all the premeditation which aggravates theft, in my pockc*. 


which it barely filled, so delicate and fine was it ... . By what 
thought was I dominated when I committed this larceny ? Why 
did my breast heave convulsively the while ? I will not say ; ' 
and if the readers who may one day peruse these pages 
can divine the thought which I was then obeying, let them 
remember how the great ladies of the day had helped to con- 
tribute to my impertinence, and let them consider that, in all 
the range of human folly, there is no mania madder than that 
of vanity. 

Before stepping into my carriage to return to Paris, I stood 
still, sadly and pensively, in the centre of that immense court- 
yard in which, during one hundred and twenty- five years, had 
been drawn up, rustling with embroidery, with gold-lace, with 
bullion, the noble companies forming the King's Military House- 
hold ; that court-yard in which lately had swarmed an eager 
crowd, swayed by ambition or greed .... rarely by any more 
generous sentiment, of which the Court, it must be confessed, 
was no frequent asylum .... 

And now it was but an immense, deserted space, with empty 
guard-rooms, the boxes void of sentries, the railings abandoned 
to all comers. . . . And beyond lay that imposing mass of gal- 
leries and turrets, that stone colossus which the magnificent 
Louis XIV. had built at vast cost, that Versailles of louis d'or, 
as Saint- Simon said, displaying a gloomy, sombre, silent splitude, 
without light, movement or life. . . . 

I knew that the Queen was awaiting my return with an 
impatience whose motive should not be misjudged, and I repented 
having prolonged by at least half-an-hour the distress in which 
Her Majesty was seemingly plunged. I atoned for a portion of 
this delay by urging on the horse which drew my cabriolet : in 
less than an hour I had covered the distance which separated 
the Chateau of Versailles from the Palace of the Tuileries. 

I found Marie Antoinette striding up and down her room. 
She was waiting for me, and desired to be alone when I returned. 
Madame la Princesse de Lamballe and Madame Campan, some- 
what piqued I think at not being admitted to a secret which was 
confided to Leonard the hair- dresser, were seated in a small 
salon adjoining. . . . They cast sour glances at me as I crossed 
this room. Doubtless these ladies failed to see that circum- 


stances occur in the course of every woman's life which she 
would rather confide to a hundred men than to a solitary indi- 
vidual of her own sex. 

"There you are at last," cried the Queen, hurrying towards 
me, as she saw me entering her room. "Have you brought 
everything ? " 

"All that I could find, Madame." 

"Show me. . . . show me. ..." 

I placed before Her Majesty the articles I had collected in 
her. apartments. She went through these with an agitation which 
she made no effort to conceal ; and then an expression of relief 
suddenly came over the Queen's features, and she said, with a 
smile : 

"You have done well, Leonard; everything is here." 

"How happy is my lot, Madame, to have been favoured by 
destiny to fulfil your expectations ! " 

"You have even surpassed them, for I see trinkets among 
these which I did not expect to see again after the invasion of 
those brigands." 

Marie Antoinette was no moralist. To me it seemed quite 
natural that the men who had forced their way that morning 
into Her Majesty's room had not earned away her diamonds. . . . 
It is uncommon to find two great passions reigning to an equal 
degree in the human breast. The assassins of the 6th of October 
were yielding to a desire for vengeance ; and vengeance is more 
rarely than any other passion accompanied by a second imperious 
longing, and hardly ever by any form of greed. . . . The 
avenging mind is too much absorbed in its object not to be 

The Queen told me of the reception that had greeted her at 
the Hotel de Ville, whither Their Majesties had been taken on 
their arrival from Versailles. She spoke very warmly in praise 
of M. Bailly. "Patriot though he be," said Her Majesty, 
" I believe him to be an honest man. He repeated with much 
feeling to the people crowded beneath the windows of the Hotel 
de Ville that the King was always happy to find himself among 
the inhabitants of Paris. *And he has great confidence in them,' 
I added, eagerly. They cried, *God save the King!* Where- 
upon M. Bailly said, *And God save the Queen, too!* The 


people repeated, *God save the Queen!' Leonard, it is some- 
thing to have an honest man for Mayor of Paris." 

It was a melancholy review which the King held on the 7th, 
8th and 9th of September, of the followers who still remained to 
him in the Palace of the Tuileries. Of the Military Household 
and the members of the Court of Versailles there remained but 
a few scattered remnants. Many of the body-guards had been 
killed ; others, grievously wounded, reappeared nevertheless with 
their arm in a sling or their head bandaged, to give a proof 
of their devotion to the King and his illustrious consort But 
the officers of the Crown, put to flight on the 5th and 6th by 
the cries of the hordes from Paris like timid partridges by the 
h3.ying of a pack of hounds, were hurrying towards the banks 
of the Rhine. At that critical time, when the Throne seemed 
on the point of crumbling to pieces, there were but few to be 
found who had the courage to remain by their Sovereign. . . . 
All had turned towards the mustering-places of the emigration, 
and protested their devotion to Louis XVI/s cause what time 
they forsook his person. A strange sort of protectors, who flew 
to proclaim afar the principle of legitimism while leaving the 
legitimate Sovereign exposed to all the attacks of his enemies. 

Those affections which had seemed the closest were revealed 
in their true nature at the first shock of the revolutionary 
thunder. Personal inclination and personal interest, dignified 
with the fine name of loyalty, had thrown aside the mask. . . . 
Madame de Polignac herself was but little concerned for the 
fate of the Queen from the moment that the Comte d'Artois 
had quitted French territory : her departure coincided almost hour 
for hour with that of His fugitive Royal Highness. This woman, 
whose tact and good fortune had enriched almost every member 
of her family, hoisted a mournful ensign over her actions, and 
seemed to be following Charles of France much as a provincial 
actress follows a sub-lieutenant who is moved from one garrison 
to another. A vain endeavour has since been made to show 
that Marie Antoinette herself had commanded her favourite to 
jom the emigrants. Her Majesty did actually give such a com- 
mand later to her devoted retainers, and to Madame la Prin- 
cesse de Lamballe herself; but we now know positively that the 
Queen was not favourably disposed towards the principle of 


emigration until the end of the year 1791, when she thought 
that an advance-guard of the French nobility was certainly about to 
lead an army of foreign legions against France. But before 
that time, she attached no idea beyond that of cowardice to this 
precipitate flight, which was capable of no reasonable explanation 
save that of fear. 

While the King and Queen were grieving over the ingratitude 
and desertion of certain of their creatures, really faithful servants 
who had been too light-heartedly dismissed, or persons punished 
too severely, were generously returning to the side of the aban- 
doned Throne, and giving assurances of a devotion that could 
no longer hope for reward. 

Among this number was the good Rose Bertin, to whom Marie 
Antoinette had forbidden the door of her apartments because 
of a failure in business which had obviously resulted from a too 
exclusive zeal for Her Majesty's service. Mademoiselle Bertin 
hurried to the Tuileries as soon as the Queen was installed 
there, and, let me hasten to add in praise of this worthy demoi- 
selle, so soon as she was able to return to her Royal mistress 
without the latter's position being such as to permit her to sus- 
pect that the milliner was thinking of asking her for pecuniary 
assistance. Marie Antoinette confessed to Mademoiselle Rose 
with a good grace that she had been too quick to lend an ear 
to the reports of her enemies, and gave her her hand, wRich 
the excellent creature kissed with rapture and covered with her 

tears I was a witness of this pathetic reconciliation, and 

congratulated myself on having contributed to it by announcing 
to my friend of twenty years' standing that her return to the 
Queen's service would be favourably received. 

At about this same time I became the intermediary in a 
still more generous action on the part of a woman whom the 
Queen had treated with severity, and who, in forgetting her 
resentment, made noble atonement for the faults of her life. 

I had just returned home, when I heard a carriage stop before 
my door. A moment later and my bell was rung sharply, and 

there entered the room Madame Du Barry. The countess 

must have perceived the expression of great surprise on my 
features. My credit with the Queen, my ardent zeal for every- 
thing connected with her service, my natural seconding of her 


likes and dislikes, my necessary reserve with those whom she 
did not honour with her favour, all these had made it my duty, 
during the past fifteen years, to avoid any contact with the 
ex-Favourite. And I had accustomed myself to believe that our 
former relations, although these had been carried pretty far (as 
witness the experiment in Oriental hygiene), had left but a pale 
and distant remembrance in Jeanne Vaubemier*s mind. 

I knew not therefore to what to attribute this lady's visit, at 
a late hour, and under somewhat mysterious circumstances .... 
A thousand phantastic ideas shot in a few seconds through my 
mind. The countess had barely attained her thirty-ninth year: 
she was still so fresh, so plump, so pretty. Could she have 
become so much at a loss for a lover that she felt constrained 
to return to a chapter of ancient history of which I had been 
the chance hero? But the Revolution had not so entirely dis- 
persed Madame Du Barry's lovers but that there still remained 
among her intimates a Prince de Beauvau * and a Due de 
Cosse-Brissac, t both of whom paid her assiduous court in her 
delicious solitude at Luciennes : the first with his feet outstretched 
on her hearth, the second in still more intimate fashion, so 
it was said. For a moment I thought that, in the course of a 
less sentimental intrigue, the ex-Favourite might have encountered 
some ill-bred swain who had repeated that attempt of her brother- 
in-law, the Comte Jean, which had obliged her, long ago, to 
have recourse to my restoring care. 

To tell truth, for one who had become quite as perfect a 
courtier as any of those who were commencing to perform 
doughty deeds of valour (in words) at Coblentz, I was indulging 
in conjectures worthy of a common hair-dresser. ... I was 
seeking a motive for Madame Du Barry's visit among the vices, 
whereas that lady had been led to call upon me in the pursuit 
of the most sublime of all virtues, forgiveness of injuries. . . . 
My error did not last long, for the countess was quick in coming 
to the point. 

•Charles Juste Due de Beauvau and a Marshal of France, 1720 — 1793, is 
probably the noble referred to. He had served at the siege of Prague and in 
the Spanish campaign of 1752, and was a member of both the French and 
the Delia Crosca Academies. His advanced age would have warranted his 
favourite attitude as described by the author. 

t Louis Hercule Timol6on de Coss<S, Due de Brissac, was 55 years of age at 
this time and Colonel of the Cent-Suisses. He was massacred in September 1792. 


"Monsieur Leonard," said she, "you enjoy the Queen*s con- 
fidence, and you deserve it. I beg you to repeat to Her Majesty 
what you are about to hear." 

"With pleasure, madame la comtesse, if that communication 
is not likely to offend Her Majesty." 

" No, it will not offend her, and, if the Queen be angry with 
anyone, it will not be with me." 

"Pray continue, madame la comtesse." 

" I was still young when Marie Antoinette arrived at Versailles. 

I shared the bed of the Sovereign, while she shared only the 

Dauphin's. Feeling that I could, with advantage to myself, 

raise altar against altar, I spared Her Royal Highness no ill 

office. . . . Once she was Queen, it lay in her power to crush 

me. The august lady was too indulgent when she contented 

herself with banishing me from the Court: perhaps she was a 

ittle less so when she parted me from the Due d*Aiguillon, 

whom at that time I loved. But I am able to recognize this 

day, in all sincerity of soul, that Their Majesties treated me with 

clemency. ... for I had outraged the Queen ; and the feeling 

which I retain amid my almost complete forgetfiilness of my 

former evil life is one of the keenest gratitude. . . . And so I 

have come to ask you, Monsieur Leonard, not only to express 

this feeling to the Queen but to prove it to her. Tell Her 

Majesty, I beg you, that no one in the world feels for her more 

deeply in the affliction that has befallen her ; tell her that my 

fortune is a large one, and that she is free to dispose of all I 

possess ; tell her moreover that no sacrifice, no danger shall 

stand in the way, if I may hope for the happiness of being able 

to serve Their Majesties, and that I shall impatiently await the 

opportunity to lay all my devotion and all my wealth at their feet." 

"Your conduct is noble, madame la comtesse...." 

" It is just, Monsieur Leonard : I have not one louis d*or but 
comes from Louis XV., not one but which should be bestowed 
in serving his gnind-children in their distress." 

" How happy and at the same time how proud am I, madame 
in the glad message that you deign to confide to me ! To- 
morrow the Queen shall know your generous intentions, and I 
shall omit nothing that will make Her Majesty worthily appre- 
ciate the true magnanimity of your conduct." 


Madame Du Barry thanked me, and kissed me with quite 
democratic affection, which in some sort recalled her former 
favours at Luciennes and Versailles. Nor should I have been 
sorry to behold these repeated in 1789, so handsome was the 
ex-Favourite still, and so seductive; but nothing came of it. 
After a moment of remunerative effusion, the countess wrapped 
herself in her dignity and bade me farewell, urging me once 
more to lay all her devotion, all her ardour at the Queen's feet, 
and repeating that she would never forget the honour that 
had been hers in living so many years beside the Throne, nor 
the infinite clemency which the King and Queen had shown 
her after her very evil conduct .... In truth, I believe that 
Madame Du Barry's stay, however short, at the convent of 
Pont-aux-Dames had turned her thoughts towards religion ; and 
yet I had reason to know that she had not yet deposited all 
her desires at the feet of the Cross. 

I did not delay the next morning to tell the Queen of the 
strange visit which I had received the evening before. A faint 
smile passed over Her Majesty's lips, and she said to me, sadly : 

"Nothing surprises me now; we seem to live in days when 
characters are being transformed .... All that was wanting to 
complete the series of inconceivable contrasts presented to my 
eyes during the past six months was that I should be able to 
place against Madame de Polignac's desertion Madame Du 
Barry's repentance .... It is really very curious : on the one 
hand, innumerable favours and acts of prodigality, which the 
red book will perhaps soon reveal to the nation, repaid with 

an abandonment carried out with the greatest want of tact 

On the other, banishment, imprisonment (for a convent is a 
prison in all but name), followed by protestations of devotion 
and offers of service which go so far as to sacrifice a fortune that 
would actually enable the former Favourite to live abroad, sur- 
rounded with all the consideration which wealth never fails to 
command . . . ." 

** Madame Du Barry's offer will surely surprise nobody. It 
is only a just return for the grave offences of which she was 
guilty against Your Majesty." 

"And for which My Majesty took care to be passably well 
revenged, Leonard .... The countess and I were quits ...."* 



"And then," I resumed, gaily, ^* is it not a distinctive feature 
in the characters of women of loose morals that they are generous 
and prone to forget the ill one has done them and to remember 
kindnesses ? " 

** They are not all thus, Leonard .... Ah ! the Duchesse de 
Polignac . . . . ! What ingratitude is hers, and how bitter it is 
to recall certain incidents in our friendship ! . . . . For I had raised 
her to my level : what am I saying ? I had prostrated my sove- 
reign greatness at that woman's feet . . . ." 

" At her feet, Madame ? " 

**Yes, Leonard, at her feet, and the thought of it kills me 

Listen, listen: you cannot have forgotten the difference that 
arose between myself and the duchess on the subject of the 
portfolio for War which was given, at her solicitation, to Mar- 
shal de Segur, * a man of such feeble health as utterly to unfit 
him for that important office .... I reproached Madame Jules, 
perhaps somewhat warmly, for her insistence. I had forced her 
selection upon the King against his will, and I had received more 

than one rough remonstrance from His Majesty The duchess's 

pride was suddenly aroused, and she went so far as to offer 
to restore all the benefits she had received at my hands .... 
The way to humble this overweening creature would perhaps 
have been to accept her offer; but I loved Madame de Polignac 
too well, and my heart was incapable of such severity. Far from 
that, I suddenly descended from my tone of reproach to one 
of regret and gentleness. She saw the tears falling from my 
eyes, and she had the courage to take a haughty advantage of 
the weakness of which she but too well recognized the forlorn 
character .... The more I begged my friend to forgive the wrong I 
had done her, the more she overwhelmed me with that icy 
respect which I had forbidden her ever to show me, persisting 
in her determination to restore to me titles, honours, fortune 
and even her husband's post at Court, saying that the latter 
would not disown her action when he learnt that she had the 
misfortune to lose my confidence .... Thereupon, seized by I 
know not what vestige of affection, I felt my tears burst from 
my eyes .... and I fell at the duchess's feet . . . , yes, Leonard, 

•Philippe, Marquis de S6gur, 1724 — 1801. He was Minister of War from 
1780 to 1787. 


I fell at her feet, and without any reserve, perhaps I should 
say without any restraint, expressed to her my regret at having 
offended her, adding all that could be prompted by the tenderest 
friendship .... This was the price of my pardon. Judge now, 
Leonard, of the contrast formed in my mind between the con- 
duct of this woman, whom I saw fljring before the first symptom 
of danger, which was, I believe, but a mere pretext for her 
departure, and of that other woman, whom I have persecuted, 
and who now makes me the offer, through you, of all she 
possesses on earth." 

**I confess, Madame," said I, with feeling, "that the parallel 
must be a painful one to you." 

"You must go to Luciennes to-morrow. Tell Madame Du 
Barry from me that I am most sensible of her offers, and that, 
to prove to her how highly I value them, I may perhaps one 
day avail myself of them." 

I shall have occasion to speak later of the assistance which 
Madame Du Barry, during her stay in England, gave to the emi- 
grants with lavish hands: I was more than once not only the 
witness, but the instrument, of her benevolence .... I return 
to the year 1790, and in writing of this year I will pass over 
incidents which are too well-known, too barren of unpublished 
details, for me to linger upon in this place. 

It was towards the end of this year that the Queen became 
convinced of the necessity to win over several members of the 
National Assembly who were persistent in their attacks upon 
the Court, and notably Mirabeau. But not only was the diffi- 
cult enterprise of persuading so independent a mind beyond 
the capacity both of the politicians of the Council and of the 
feeble courtiers with whom Their Majesties were unhappily sur- 
rounded, but it was generally rumoured that the king of the 
constituent body was only seeking to undermine the Throne 
filled by the eldest descendants of Henry IV. in order to raise 
upon its ruins the throne of the House of Orleans. Although 
nothing was known for certain concerning these relations, the 
Queen had received through Madame Campan, Mademoiselle 
Berlin and myself information as to the intimacy reigning 
between the Due d'Orleans and Mirabeau which was sufficient 
to alarm her. His Serene Highness had never before been known 


to give the count any signs of friendship. Their meetings could 
therefore have none but a political significance .... How to 
penetrate the mystery that enveloped the frequent interviews 
between the Duke and Maury^s great adversary ? . . . . The 
Queen decided that I should be entrusted with the task of 
throwing light upon these furtive conferences. 

I soon discovered that as soon as he had ceased to thunder 
from the tribune, Mirabeau would hurry through his dinner in 
order to repair to some isolated building, one day in the Fau- 
bourg Saint- Antoine, another day at Belleville and a third out- 
side the Barriere du Roule. This did not at first afford me 
any clue; but a more assiduous, in other words a better remu- 
nerated, observation enabled the agents whom I employed to 
learn that every evening, between light and dark, M. le Due 
d'Orleans left his palace and always set out in the same direction 
as M. le Comte de Mirabeau. This knowledge soon led to the 
certainty that these two personages repaired to the self-same 
house, and I was thenceforth able to judge how the land lay. 

But my secret investigations came to an end at the door of 
this fatal house, or rather of those different houses in which our 
conspirators alternated their rendezvous. Vainly did I myself 
set to work to interrogate the servants of the Prince or of the 
great orator, whom I carried off to a tavern adjoining the mys- 
terious house, after having entered the latter upon divers pretexts 
and under divers disguises. All I received for my pains was a 
terrible distaste for the abominable liquor which I was compelled 
to swallow almost as recklessly as I paid for it, lest I should 
rouse the suspicions of those menials. 

One night, alas! I received somewhat more than I bargained 
for. I had enticed a tall, fat footman belonging to Mirabeau to 
a wine-house at la Courtille ; I had long had my eye upon this 
man, whom I knew to be one of his master's favourite servants 
and better informed than his fellows concerning the count's 
private life. The lackey-confidant was a toper, and I easily 
succeeded in fuddling him; but the rogue was cunning, and no 
amount of wine would make him lose his head . . . My frequent 
and insidious questions, which became the less prudent as I 
considered my man to be the more beclareted, aroused his 
suspicions. He ended by taking me for what I was, a secret 


agent ; and before I had time to explain to him that I at least 
held my instructions from high quarters, or to strengthen my 
means of seduction with a handful of louis, the brute let fly at 
my left eye, giving me an untimely view of the most beautiful 
firework of stars that man had ever beheld. 

The gods love vengeance, and so do hair-dressers, when they 
have an income of some fifty thousand livres a year . . . Press- 
ing my handkerchief to my eye, which had swollen to the size 
of an egg, I reflected that I could not well demand satisfaction 
from a lackey at the sword^s point. On the other hand, when 
I compared his Herculean fists with my hand, so renowned for 
its lightness, I was not tempted to challenge him to a duel a 
Vanglaise .... I assumed an air, however, of having decided 
upon this latter course, and you shall see for what reason. I 
beckoned to my colossal adversary to join me in the lists, by 
the light of the stars, in a spacious arbour that lay behind the 
tavern. He followed me without hesitating .... As I crossed 
the threshold, I was observed by my two satellites; whom I had 
kept close at hand since I first commenced to make these 
investigations. They guessed what had happened from the sight of 
my handkerchief covered with blood, and quickly taking another 
road, they reached the arbour at the same moment that I did. 

** You are rash, my cock-sparrow, " said the big flunkey, 
insolently, "to come and try fisticuffs with me. You would 
have done better to take that blow in the eye rather than get 
yourself smashed to pieces, as you shortly will be. " 

" On the contrary, *' I replied, through my clenched teeth ; 
"I mean to repay you that blow with interest. ..." 

** That's what we shall see. ..." 

" And quickly, " exclaimed one of my men, springing with 
his mate through a vine-clad fence. 

Suddenly a pair of stout cudgels beat upon my enemy's 
shoulders the liveliest of allegrettiy which was continued, in 
spite of the poor devil's cries, until he fell beneath this hail 
of fustigation. . . . When we saw the tavern-keeper and his 
waiters running up to the field of battle, candles in hand, we 
sprang, I and my avenging ministers, over a hedge which closed 
the garden at its further end, and found ourselves in the open 
fields, protected by the darkness. 


I ran on for a few minutes, to escape any who might be 
following me, and then my strength failed me, and I was 
obliged to lie down upon a little grass mound. My eye had 
swollen to a monstrous size, and gave me great pain. However, 
my sight was not injured, and I hoped to escape with what 
our neighbours across the Channel call "a black eye." An 
adjacent fountain enabled me to lave it in its refreshing, if not 
exactly healing, flow. I soaked a piece torn from my hand- 
kerchief in the water, and applied it by way of poultice to the 
injured part; of what remained I made a bandage. A sorry, 
blindfold Cupid, I was taken home in a coach which we found 
near the barrier. 

I had never before experienced in such painful fashion the 
danger of playing at observant monarchism. When I was safe 
in bed, after sponging my eye with a curative fluid, I decided 
thenceforth to rely upon less perilous and more effective means . . . 
I knew that M. de Genlis, the Prince's favourite, was in the 
secret of his consultations with Mirabeau. I knew, moreover, 
that the said gentleman loved wenches and orgies, and that 
when once plunged in a two-fold intoxication, he was easily 
made to talk, although ordinarily in the matter of intrigue he was 
as silent as a Trappist. . . . But it would be necessary to set 
on this libertine's track a woman who would have both the 
tact to play upon his jaded senses and entangle him into longing 
for a private interview with her, and the wit to make him tell 
what I wanted to know. These qualifications were not to be 
found in an ordinary courtesan. What I wanted was a shrewd 
girl, accustomed to surmount a thousand obstacles in the road 
to fortune ; some neat-footed La Motte, at once wanton, arch 
and insinuating. . . . After casting about in my mind, I thought 
I had found the right woman. 

The porter * of my house had a very pretty daughter, whom 
I protected. The poor child had scarcely completed her seven- 
teenth year when she betrayed so strong a desire to be pleasing 
in the eyes of her father's employer, showing such readiness 
herself to bring me my letters and newspapers (which she hid 

* The concierge, an invention of the revolutionary aristocracy, had not yet 
come into existence ; there were only porters and Suisses. Leonard, in spite of 
the luxur)' of his establishment, would not have had the impudence to post a 
Suisse at the door of the house of which he was the principal tenant. 




whenever I sent my servants to ask for them, so as to have 
an excuse to bring them up to me) and making such play with 
those soft eyes of hers, that I had no choice left me but to take 
her virginity, which was offered to me with such charming 
persistency. . . . This was all very well ; but we ceased to be 
of one mind when my little friend gave an inkling of her desire 
to live with me. I replied what M. le Comte d'Artois had one 
day replied to Mademoiselle Contat, "My dear child, I don't 
know how to Mive/" I added that all I could* do for her was 
to procure her an engagement in the French company at the 
Theatre de Monsieur, where, in my capacity of proprietor of the 
house, I could exercise my influence in her favour. 

Lucette, as my young portress was called, wept bitterly at 
first. A young girl of seventeen who wants to " live with ** some 
one, is always obeying the dictates of her heart; speculation 
rarely comes into play till five years later. However, she ended 
by listening to reason ; I presented her to the managers of the 
Theatre Feydeau, * where she was at once received as a pupil ; 
and within a year of her admission, I learnt that, though still 
but a very indiflferent actress, she had become a great mistress 
in the art of love. 

It was Lucette whom I determined to employ to vanquish 
M. de Genlis and wheedle from him the secret of the inter- 
views between M. le Due d*Orleans and Mirabeau. The 
young actress had plenty of experience. She knew how to make 
the most of that feminine prattle which is readily taken for wit, 
when accompanied by a well-timed wink or a pursing of the 
lips that appears to denote a thought. But one important point 
must be elucidated before investing Lucette with my confidence, 
and that was to discover whether she had up to that time 
escaped the quest of de Genlis, who knew the actresses of Paris 
as a canoness ought to know the beads of her rosary. 

I wrote a line to my protegee and begged her to come and 
dine with me, not venturing to run the risk of a supper. 
Lucette was delighted to come, and running in without being 
announced, entered my study humming a refrain from Le Marquis 
de Tulipano^ an Italian opera which had become the rage. 

" Have you become a prima donna^ my dear Lucette ? *' I 

• The Th<^atre de Monsieur, it will be remembered, was in the Rue Feydeau. 



asked, after returning the kiss whidi she gave me by way of 
opening fire. 

** A prima donna, certainly, my dear master, if you mean it 
in a certain sense." 

" Aha ! I see you have improved yourselL* 

" So much the more glory to you, O illustrious Leonard ! It 
would be a rare sight to see one of your pupils on the high 
road to fortune without ^reading ^ide the wings of pleasure." 

" Yes, Lucette ; but beware of excess if you tire pleasure's 

wings, she soon droops her feathers." 

" Basta / . , . . That is ver\' well for you men, who reproach us 
with indulging the whims of coquetry, and who yourselves turn love 
into a whim a hundred times more fitful than the most ephemeral of 
ours. . . . The desires of your sony sex resemble a sudden shower 
in spring ; whereas ours are like a perpetual autumn rainfall. ..." 

"Good, I can see that you will perfectly suit the mission on 
which I propose to send you. But first, Lucette, come and sit 
down here, and tell me if, in the career in which you have so 
speedily acquired such wealth of transcendental logic, you have 
by chance happened not to meet the Comte de Genlis. ..." 

" You mean to say, no doubt, Monsieur Leonard," replied 
Lucette with a certain dignity, " ' Have you not by chance 
happened to meet the Comte de Genlis ? ' " 

" Yes, that is what I meant," I replied, seeing that the yoimg 
actress was rightly piqued at the manner of my question. 

" Well and good . . . No, I have never met the count in the 
course of a career into which I do not indiscriminately admit 
every fellow-traveller. All I know of him is that he is a debau- 
chee and. . . . what his kind deserve to be." 

** Well then, granting that he is what you suggest, would you 
be willing to give him one more opportunity to revenge himself?" 

"That depends.... Whom should I be obliging?" 

" Me, Lucette " 

"That decides the matter, and I do not even make any 
conditions . . . ." 

" Ah, but I shall make some for you .... If you succeed, 
you shall have five hundred louis." 

"If they come from you, Monsieur Leonard, I won't have 
them. I will do you none but gratis services." 


••No, my child ; by making a conquest of the Comte de Genlis 
you will be serving the Court, and the Court will pay/' 

"That is different; if I am to act as a functionary of State . . . ," 

"Just so," said I, bursting into a laugh. 

"Then that is settled. Only, my dear master, I will only 
consent to receive your political instructions at a little supper " 

"Lucette, Lucette, you want earnest-money " 

" I want to prove to you, Leonard, that the fires of a first love 
can never be extinguished...." 

" That speech is too amiable, and you are too pretty, Lucette, 
for me to decline the form of investiture which you propose.. .. 
After dinner we shall go to the play, and I will bring you back 
to-night .... But your father " 

" Ha, ha ! I forgot my father .... We must slip by the porter's 
lodge and respect the paternal morals " 

Lucette was in such a joyous mood, and so provoked me 
throughout the evening, that by the time we had returned home 
and slipped past the porter's lodge, I felt a keen desire for the 
signature of her commission, as she called it. She was fond of 
champagne, and I poured her out glass after glass, the more 
as each sparkling bumper sununoned up fresh brilliant and 
original coruscations from her mind .... Amid this firework of 
the imagination, I asked Lucette how she proposed to set to 
work to make the acquaintance of the Comte de Genlis. 

" I have no idea, upon my word, and I am not going to think 
about it at present — I have very different things to think of, 
in fiEiith . . . ." 

" But nevertheless, my dear child, you must have sketched out 
some little plan in your mind." 

" I ? Not the least in the world the unexpected, dear 

master — the unexpected, that is the great thing Imagination 

is wearied and sent to sleep with long meditation Personally 

speaking, I am never so brilliant as when I act on the spur of 
the moment — Be easy, illustrious Leonard. Within a week I 
will bring you all the ideas on politics which the Comte de 
Genlis has in his head, from Pater to Amen.** 

With which words Lucette threw her napkin on the table, 
rose from her chair, and not very steady on her legs, dropped 
on to my sofa in the most provoking attitude My pupil was 

VOL. II. 2 


a devil, but a very charming devil, and I was very nearly seized 
with a recrudescence of love.... I succeeded, however, in saving 
myself from such an absurdity. 

**Mark me well, Leonard," she resumed, "before this day 
week, under these same conditions, you shall see me here again. 
The Comte de Genlis* secrets shall be yours .... and I shall 
be yours — and I shall not have been his," added Lucette, 
boastfully raising her voice. 

"Ah! what nonsense!" 

"You need not give any exclamations. I shall bring proof 
of what I say." 

That was for the moment Lucette's last word. 


Lucette retams — A pseudo-Milady— A t6te-ii-t£te at le Raincy — The Comte 
de Genlis' gallant intentions — A certificate of fidelity — Lucette*s report — Mirabeaa 
an Oiieanist — He wavers in his adherence to the cause — An outline of the 
letter — I give Marie Antoinette an account of Lucette's mission — And discuss 
with her the chances of a defection on the part of Mirabeau — The Queen 
sends me to the tribune to sound him as to his intentions. 

Lucette was a day ahead of her promise. She stepped into 
my room twenty-four hours before the appointed time. 

** What ! " I exclaimed, in surprise. " Already ! " 

"My dear master, you gave me twice as much time as I 
wanted, had I cared to press for the results. Our good Comte 
de Genlis is quite the most malleable creature that God ever 
made; and I am not astonished that his wife has made herself 
rather more of a man than he is. . . .** 

"My pretty Lucette, according to your promise you were to 
know nothing of that. ..." 

" Ah ! as far as my promise is concerned, I have uncontrovert- 
ible evidence. ..." 

"How do you mean?" 

"I promised proofs, and I have them in writing...." 

" Let me see. ..." 

"We will proceed in order, if you please." 

Lucette sat down by my side on the sofa; and passing her 
arm round my neck with a familiarity against which I had no 
wish to protest, she thus began her narrative: 

"One of the chorus-girls at our theatre is the more or less 
real daughter of a third or fourth scullion in M. le Due d*Or- 
leans' kitchen. This girl is under certain obligations to me, and 
through her I was able to establish intelligences with His Serene 
Highnesses palace. Knowing that the Comte de Genlis often 
went to Le Raincy, I bribed the scullion to inform me when 



next die Prince's £ivocrrte vas abod to make diat jonmer. I had 
not long to v^ait: barely two da^rs had flapsed when I was 
visited bv mv otA^s^nz choiister. who tokl me that M. de Genlis 
had that verv m*:>ment departed for Le Raincr, where he was 
to spend two davs hnntmg with M. le Doc d'Orieans. I had 
had the topiygrai^y of the place earefoIlT described to me; I 
knew the smnmer-honse which the count inhabited; and I had 
been instructed how to reach it without searching or difficulty. 
" At the fiall of dusk I set out from Paris in an elegant hired 
carriage, drawn by four horses: two of my cronies at the theatre, 
who had formerly been jockeys, dressed themselves as English 
postili'jns and undertoc»k to drive my carriage for me; while 
two others, in fancv* liver^', took their places on the coadi- 
man's box. 

"Pelissier, of our theatre, had given me two lessons in the 
British gibberish: and carefully clad as an English traveller, I 
ensconced myself in my berlin, and ordered my stage postil- 
lions to deposit me, as though we had lost our u*ay, beneath 
the windows of the iUustrious Genlis' summer-house, after first 
splashing the carriage to the roof with mud. 

"All went well and as I had \^-ished. The carriage stopped 
quite close to the chateau ; the more intelligent of my two lac- 
keys (the one who had the more frequently enjoyed the oppor- 
tunity of walking on to our stage and saying, * Madame la 
marquise, the carriage waits ') roused the gate-keeper, and asked 
for word of M. le Comte de Genlis, on behalf of Lady Bar- 
messon .... The rogue apparently acquitted himself well of his 
mission. In less than ten minutes he returned ^ith the count 
himself, who had come to offer the hospitality of his house 
to a noble Englishwoman, whom the false lackey had described 
as young and beautiful. 

" By the light of the torches carried by two footmen in the 
full livery of the House of Orleans, Genlis was able to convince, 
himself, I suppose, that my servant had spoken without exag- 
geration, for he hastened to offer me his hand and assist me 
from my carriage .... 

" * Truly, milady,* said he as we reached the siunmer-house, 
'I am under a great obligation to fortune, or rather to the dark- 
ness which, by causing you to lose the high-road, has brought 


you to Le Raincy .... It is one of those charming adventures 
which the countess, my wife, describes somewhat less happily, 
I think, in her romances.' 

** * Oh ! I knew that Madame le Comtesse de Genlis composes 
comfortably lovely romances.* * 

"'Yes, milady, but they are fables, while my lucky star 
to-night has procured me the most agreeable reality.* 

** ' I am sensibly touched, monsieur le comte, with your charm- 
ing compliment . . . .' 

"We reached a small drawing-room on the ground-floor, 
elegantly furnished, and leading out upon a lawn covered with 
flowers, whose sweet perfume was wafted in upon us through the 
open glass-doors. 

*** Zounds, milady, I congratulate myself upon being able to 
devote myself quite entirely to-night to the hospitality which 
you permit me to show you,' exclaimed the count gallantly, 
leading me to a downy seat which could doubtless have told 
some pretty tales, had some fairy gifted it with the volubility 
of Cr^billon's sofa ....** (Observe that Lucette was well-read.) t 

" * The Prince,* continued my host, * will not be here till 
to-morrow afternoon, and from now till then all my time is at 
your grace's disposal.' 

"*I should be in a great affliction if I were to cause you, 
monsieur le comte, so to disturb yourself. ... I had the inten- 
tion to leave to-morrow in the early morning.' 

** * I shall do all I can to prevent you, milady. This chateau 
is worth visiting in every portion of it, and the ladies of your 
country love pretty things.' 

"I made the count a most graceful little English courtesy, 
and the conversation continued in these tones of compliment 
until the arrival of supper, which was shortly served. You can 
picture to yourself, my dear protector, that the tete-i-tete, of 

* The translator has endeavoured to give a faithful rendering of the " British 

"f Lt Sofha^ published in 1745, is perhaps the most popular- of the gallant 
books of the i8th century. Its author, Claude Prosper Jolyot de Cr6billon, 
X707 — 1777, generally known as Cr^billon fils, was a man whose life belied his 
woiks, which are exceedingly licentious. He lived, and on the best of terms, 
widi his father, Cr^billon the elder, a writer of pla3rs, a member of the Academy, 
and a man of a morose, proud, cynical character, not, perhaps, utterly without 
resemblance to that of Dr. Johnson, his contemporary. 


which I received a silent token in seeing the table only laid for 
two, caused no great alarm to my Britannic pruder}-. The count 
observed the resignation with which I accepted this little private 
supper-party, and I could see that he was cherishing hopes of 
the most fatuous character. 

"I artfully turned the conversation upon M. le Due d'Orlians. 
I praised his appearance, his wit, his affability, his benevolence. 
'His Serene Highness is the idol of the people,' replied M. de 
Genlis, charmed to hear the praises of the Prince sung by a 
person belonging to that nation which His Highness hoped to 
bring round to his interest .... 

** * Monseigneur le Due d'Orleans is very much the friend of 
our Prince of Wales, * and I have heard His Royal Highness 
say that the French nation would be in a great state of satis- 
faction to have for their king this first Prince of the Blood.' 

" * Hush, milady ; in these days walls have ears, ' said M. de 
Genlis, in a whisper. *True, the nation calls for M. le Due 
d 'Orleans: the elder branch of the Bourbons Is crumbling to 
dust, and Louis XVI., with his evident bad faith, is giving the 
Assembly more and more ground for discontent.' 

"*In England we are already looking to his deposition.' 
***We are thinking of it in France,' said M. de Genlis, 
pertinently, 'and if Monseigneur were not so modest, so dis- 
interested . . . . ' 

•* * I have been told that the great orator, Mirabcau, is working 
in your Constituent Parliament for M. le Due d'Orleans. ' 

" Not in the Assembly, as yet : the apple is not yet ripe . . . 
only Mirabcau is preparing the way, in conjunction with us . . . 
and when the time comes . . . ' 
" * I understand . . . . ' 

"*But it will be a costly matter: that man is insatiable.... 
You are not drinking, milady: though my champagne has a 
certain quality .... the Prince, who has a taste for it, always 
chooses it for me.' 

•Afterwards George IV. The two worthies were, in fact, great friends. It 
most be remembered that the English royal family, who themselves only occupied 
the throne despite the protest of Henry IX., had naturally not the same devotion 
to the hereditary principle which distinguished Louis XlV. when he refused to 
acknowledge the title of William and Mary. To the Georges, so long as there 
was a king in France, it mattered little which king. 


"The count, whose flashing looks revealed intentions very far 
removed from politics, had several times approached his chair 
to mine, as though to speak to me with greater mystery .... 
In a little while he suddenly changed the subject of conversa- 
tion, and spoke to me of my beauty, which he detailed to me 
with a gallantry full of delicacy, although his knee. displayed 
less of the latter quality in the ardour with which it pressed 
against mine .... The champagne-bottle continued ceaselessly 
to present its sparkling neck above my glass, although I spared 
m3rself in an inverse ratio to M. de Genlis, who seemed anxious 
to bring himself to that condition of exaltation in which the 
conquest of a woman is forced, while reason is acquitted of 
complicity in the conquest. Soon guessing his intention, I allowed 
him to go far enough to be drawn into an intrigue, but not to 

give him the hope of a speedy triumph He kissed my 

hand several times, risked an avowal, held my knee captive 
between his, and foimd me indulgent and almost encour- 
aging; but when the confidant of M. le Due d*Orleans 
attempted to go further than this, I armed myself with a some- 
what haughty severity, which gave him to understand that my 
surrender, if it was to take place at all, would be the price of a 
more gradual and less insistent courtship. Such was the idea 
which I wished to convey to my host, for it suited my purpose 
that he should come and see me in Paris. He fully entered 
into my proposal to hire a fine apartment in a hotel for three 
days, and then to set out for the waters, by which time I should 
have learnt from the count all that we wanted to know about 
his master's interviews with Mirabeau. 

"M. de Genlis felt that for that night he would have to 
restrain himself within the limits of chivalrous hospitality. There 
was a woman there to undress me. The next morning she came 
to offer me her assistance; and the count, after showing me 
over the chateau, allowed me to depart, but not before respect-, 
fully begging my permission to pay me a visit .... I gave him 
as my address the Hotel des Ambassadeurs, and departed. 

**The next day, Genlis was with me by mid-day. I offered 
him a dish of tea, which he eagerly accepted. The scene of 
gallantry of Le Raincy was renewed, and I took advantage of 
it to elicit fresh details of Mirabeau's plan of an Orleanist 


monarchy. In the evening, the count came and offered me the 
use of his box at the Opera. I knew too well to refuse, and 
I was admitted still deeper into the secrets of the conspiracy, 
at the price of a semi-avowal which seemed to cost my modesty 
a great effort. On the morrow I informed my admirer that I 
was leavipg that night for the waters at Neris.* The count, 
madly enamoured, swore to follow me there; and I pretended 
to be flattered by his decision. 

"*But before then, fair lady, you will receive more than one 
letter describing in characters of fire the feelings which I bear 
in my heart.* 

" * Ah well, we shall see, monsieur le comte.* 

** * A defiance, charming lady ! you will find a letter awaiting 
you at the first post.' 

" * That would be too pretty ' 

" * Yet nothing is more serious than my love.* 

"*As serious as all the loves of Frenchmen.' 

***Do not complain of that, milady: I have often heard ladies 
from your country deplore excess in the opposite direction.' 

** I did actually leave that evening .... to return home to the 
Rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, and yesterday an express, which 
I had dispatched to the post-office at Villejuif, t brought me 
this letter. It is the proof I promised you, unbeliever: read it, 
and see if I have not kept my promise faithfully: 

***You have left me, adorable lady. You carry away with 
you my heart, and you leave me the martyrdom of a love 
reduced to a diet of hope. But at least you have i>ermitted 
me to retain this one consolation, this hope which will carry 
me on its wings to the place where I am to see you once 
again. ... Ah ! how I curse the wretched cares which keep 
me in Paris for twenty-four hours longer: they will seem as 
twenty- four ages, and yet it is but one single revolution of 

the sun which separates me from you ! Until the happy 

moment when I shall rejoin you, most idolized of women, I 
shall dream of nothing but the leafy shades of Neris, and the 

*Ndns-les- Bains, a small town in Bourbonnais, containing several warm*water 

t Eight kilometres south of Paris, and the first i>osting-station on the Hour- 
bonnais road. 


grassy slopes which they conceal. . . . Alas ! while thinking of 
them, I sigh like the saddest of lovers. Shall I ever attain 
that moment of good fortune which extinguishes the sighs of 
the lover who is most blessed ! ' " 

" And now, " said Lucette, drawing another document from 
her paper, "here is the detailed report of what I have learnt 
concerning the relations between M. le Due d'OrlSans and 
Mirabeau. I raised myself to the level of the mission with 
which you honoured me in the name of the Court, and you 
see I have set to work after the fashion of a statesman ; the 
Chevalier d'Eon, of diplomatic memory, could not, I flatter 
myself, have done better. , . . except in the matter of style, 
which may perhaps here and there remind you of the young 
lady of the boards. ..." 

" Really, my dear Lucette, " I exclaimed with fervour, " you 
are a woman beyond price. But withal you are so pretty a 
woman, so seductive, and above all so delicate in your conduct 
towards myself, that my hrst homage must be paid to your 
chaims: your talent shall only receive the second," 

"Oh, but Leonard, can you picture that excellent Comte de 
Genlis posting along the road to Neris, to rejoin Lady Bar- 

" You have well earned your five hundred louis, and you can 
indulge yourself besides in a luxury of conscience surpassing 
the ordinary." 

"A luxury with which I love to adorn myself for you, the 
object of my first love, that love which never dies out of one's 
heart, and whose reflections recur throughout one's life." 

" Provided they are not sought for too often," replied I, with 
a somewhat sceptical smile. 

" You deserve not to find them to-night," retorted the actress, 
a little poutingly. 

It was not till the next day was well advanced that I could 
find an occasion to read what Lucette called her report It 
contained some disorder, some frivolity ; but all the facts were 
noted down in full detail, and the whole tendency of the 
conspiracy was easily to be gathered from it. 

Mirabeau seemed to be convinced that Louis XVI. had never 


forsaken the idea of flight, and that onhr his timidity delayed 
its execution. By this means the King hoped to save the Throne 
of Henrv' TV., and to annul, from the midst of a camp fonned 
with the assistance of fore^ armies, the labours of the National 
Assembly towards reform. His Majest}''s intention at that time 
was to restore the old order of things, purely and simply, and 
to "concede" fresh powers to the parliaments. Next year, this 
plan was modified, and Louis XVI. adopted the idea of granting 
a Constitution. * Now the departure of the King was the event 
which, in Mirabeau's eyes, oi^ht to serve as a motive for a 
change of d^-nasty. The forsaken Throne of the Tuileries would 
be regarded as vacant ; Mirabeau would proclaim it as such in 
the Constituent Assembly : and he would forthwith propose . the 
Prince who had associated himself with the French Revolution, 
and who consequently deser\'ed to be called up>on to direct it. 
This plan, founded upon the presumed attempt at escape of 
Louis XVL would infallibly have been carried out, since this 
escape was, in Mirabeau's opinion, more than probable, t But 
in order to reap the fruits of such an occurrence, it was neces- 
sary for Philippe d'Orleans to develop an amount of energy 
sufficient to satisfy the French Demosthenes, and to contribute 
.to the building up of his throne. It was of no a\'ail for him to 
content himself with being declared king, without first proving 
that he had the courage to become so. Unfortunately for 
Philippe d'Orleans, Mirabeau soon perceived that he was risking 
his head in a cause in which the careless and incapable Pre- 
tender § might well think fit to abandon him to the loss of that 
important stake. He expressed his disgust to the Prince's con- 
fidants, and plainly declared to them that he would not hesitate 
to throw on one side the potter's clay which he was trying to 
mould into a king. . . . The golden tribute was increased, but 
proved unable to warm the chilled zeal of the impetuous tribune. 

* This Constitution was drafted by Mirabeau, after his reconciliation with the 
Court, and probably served as a model for Louis XVIII.'s Charter of 1814. 

f The attempted flight took place on the 21st of June, 1791, less than three 
months after Mirabeau's death. 

§ "A most signal failure, this young Prince I The stuff prematurely burnt out 
of him : little left but foul smoke and ashes of expiring sensualities : what might 
have boon Thought, Insight, and even Conduct, gone now, or fast going, — to 
confused darkness, broken by bewildering dazzlements ; to obstreperous crotchets ; 
to activities which you may call semi •delirious, or even semi-galvanic !" — CA1.LYLE. 


Thenceforth the collection of political creatures, who had thitherto 
been known as the Orleans Party, deprived of their head, drifted 
aimlessly to and fro upon the political horizon, forsaken to the 
feeble steering of the Comte de Genlis. Things had already 
reached this extremity when the adventurous Lucette presented 
herself at Le Raincy. . . . Mirabeau had ceased to be an active 
agent in the Prince's cause, and was only mentioned as a name 
in the studied indiscretions of His Serene Highness's favourite. 

Nevertheless Genlis, aided by the magic of this name and by 
his personal talents, upon which he relied with all the confi- 
dence of the bom mediocrity, hoped to carry on high the Orleans 
banner, despite the winds from every party which conspired to 
lower it. . . . We have seen how far this courtier was to be 
relied on : a woman comes to him amid his political meditations, 
and off he flies, post-haste, in pursuit of her, without a thought 
to the condition in which he leaves his master's camp, of which 
he considers himself the outpost ! 

Such were the details concerning the supposed Orleanist conspi- 
racy which I procured, in the summer of 1790, with the assis- 
tance of my actress from the Theatre de Monsieur. It resulted 
in one invaluable piece of information for the Court: that 
Mirabeau was only waiting for an opportune moment to abandon 
the cause of the Due d'Orleans. With a little tact and some 
sacrifice, Louis XVI. would be able to win over to his side this 
prodigious orator, whose eloquence captured all parties. Fur- 
nished with this excellent news, I made myself ready to wait 
upon the Queen. I had not seen Her Majesty since I had 
received that blow for which I had so well revenged myself: 
there is something so plebeian about a swollen black eye that 
I had not ventured to present myself at the Chateau. My 
fortnight's absence from Her Majesty's apartments had been 
accounted for, through Mademoiselle Bertin, by a pretended 
attack of fever. When I once more appeared before Marie 
Antoinette, nothing remained of my contusion beyond a slight 
bistre mark beneath the eye, which the Queen took to be the 
last trace of the fever from which I had just recovered. 

Her Majesty learnt with extreme satisfaction that the Court 
had a chance of succeeding with Mirabeau. She clapped her 
pretty hands, and cried, "That man is ours: leave that to me." 

ccraGiS zw i-£:i3ca3iz> 

^•s; bsr iz, 2^sS2. :c ±<t «'7rTxm>*«g -v^stl -mrij^ I had fdlfiDed 
a-T laai, I i.ui iisr. "»±z. 2. 

prtaeziL 2=ii I cic'd ice. fmiL 2. 'rriiff- r*:ct iCA sziTy that her 

i=. ±.'£ -rr-Sqg>-r''<. fnc ^T luzxathne; bat 
zj ±Ai :3=i» rr^wsd Sicnr. and I cared 
I^Tjc S>r iL* r^T*arrs gc a bcazrr zaic* ±-in rvice of ^c. 

In ocder L3 aag^; ai ±£ r5i:±s :c Zjbdj Rarmessc-o, and e^)ec- 
a3y at p>:c G<s^' wiii-^ioae -ciase. ^C^ne AniC'Cnette for a 
momcnl reocverod 2i« z>:'w«r :<f h.'oi^.zez u wii^ar she used to call 
Ler Z'jixi rears and tbe:: said 13 ne: 

* We miKi give :he dear gin ibe rwe h::zidrcd k<2> you pfomised 
her, Leooard: M. dc Lap:ne* shall hive hi> ir^stnictioos to- 
morrow. And DOW.'' coQiinaed :be Qseen, after a moment's 
reflection, * we most set to wo^ wnh<:>ct dejay to win Mirabeau. 
Whatever price he chooses xo set upon what he calk his con- 
science will oe cheap if we succeed in taking him away from 
the Ehic d'Orleans, and I shall l<j<:*k to you to take the first 
step in approaching him.^ 

** Your Majesty knows my devotedness; but do you not think, 
Madame, that Mirabeau and Leonard are two names that sound 
singularly together?" 

"Wherefore? M. de Mirabeau will not think it at all extra- 
ordinary that we should employ upon a confidential mission a 
person on whom we can rely more than on all the statesmen 
who surround as.** 

"Yes, Madame, if you mean those whom the nation has 
forced upon you; but among His Majesty's Privy Council " 

" I should prefer a council consisting of Madame Campan, 
Rose Bcrtin and yourself. Personally I would rather place my 
confidence in a IA)nard than in a Bertrand de Molevillet or 

* ArnAod de La Porte, the Intendant of the Civil List He was also the 

d<*po«taf7 of the most delicate correspondence, and was one of the most tnsted 

and trusty servants of the Royal Family in France. He was guiUotined in 
1792, in nis fifty-fifdi year. 

t Antoine Francois Marquis de Bertrand -Mol^ville. 1744— 1818. He became 
Minister of Marine in 1791. Shortly afterwards he fled to England, where he 
wrote several historical works, among others an Hitioire de la rHtoluHon de 
France in fourte#m volumes, and Memoire* particuliert tur U r^gne de Loui* 
XVI.^ in two volumes. He returned to France at the Restoration, but received 
no Court employment. 


a Mallet Dupan .... * I have no faith in the cold-blooded 
intrigues of those gentlemen; I may be mistaken, but I suspect 
all those people who have begun to work for what they call a 
Counter-Revolution .... They seem to me to be mere methodical 
conspirators .... plotting only with their brains and not at all 
with their hearts .... I beg you, Leonard, do not refuse to see 

" I refuse to obey Your Majesty ! I could never entertain 
such a thought! What shall I say to the proud orator ?" 

"Nothing directly from me, and still less from the King. 
We might perhaps fail with a man so difficult to manage, and 
we must risk as little as possible." 

**I think I follow Your Majesty's meaning. I shall tell him 
that I have learnt from a good source that the King regrets 
the absence of so powerful a support as M. de Mirabeau; 
that His Majesty every day praises the talents which he dis- 
plays in the tribime ; and that he has more than once repeated 
that none but M. de Mirabeau is able to bring about a lasting 
peace between the Monarchy and the Revolution." 

"Do not forget to add that, according to the indirect but 
reliable information that has reached you, the sincerity of the 
King's sentiments is the more certain in that they are shared 
by the Queen .... For you know, Leonard," continued Marie 
Antoinette with a smile, "it is always I who am supposed to 
inspire the Court resistance to measures dictated by the patriot- 
ism of the Assembly." 

" In order to impress the Comte de Mirabeau more in this 
regard, should I tell him that I have heard that Your Majesty 
yourself desires to have a preliminary interview with him? I 
should not let it seem that I was instructed to ask for it, but 
I should pretend that I had heard from a well-informed person 
that Your Majesty has really that intention, and I woul d take 
^t upon myself to arrange the meeting, if it suited the deputy's 
views to agree to it." 

"Yes, that is not a bad idea," replied Marie Antoinette, 
reflectively, and instinctively throwing a glance in the mirror 

* Jacqaes Mallet- Dupan, the editor of the Mercure de France^ the Monarchical 
paper. He too fled, in 1792, proceeding first to his native town of Geneva and 
dien to London, where he published the Mercure Brilannique^ T799. He died 
next year, aged fifty. 


which surmounted the mantel. ** But if this man should, in spite 
of his political ardour, have retained the fatuousness for which 
he was so renowned a few years since, and of which he gave 
such strong proofs in his letters written from the prison at 
Vincennes, * he will perhaps think that I have become enamoured 
of him .... and the kind public, the public which has drawn 
up so long a list of my lovers, will not hesitate to add to it 
the name of the tribune Mirabeau, who, as you know," added 
the Queen, with bitter facetiousness, **is physically so attractive 
a squire of dames .... But no matter, if the eagle of the Con- 
stituent Assembly, after listening to your recital, suggests an 
interview with me, do not hesitate to promise it ... . reserving 
to me, of course, the right to fix the occasion .... a woman 
is not conquered by the same arguments that triumph over a 
nation. In fact I have reason to know that Mirabeau woukl 
be less frequently victorious if he had ladies as his opponents 
in his oratorical combats." 

"Wliat Your Majesty says has often occurred to my mind: 
this orator, who is at present so greatly to be dreaded, could 
easily have been brought over to the Court party by some 
clever, insinuating lady .... the kings of the tribune have their 
favourites like the others." 

"No doubt, but the opportunity has been lost." And the 
Queen added, in a sprightly tone, mingled with a shade of 
irony, " I beg you, Leonard, to believe that I have no intention 
of undertaking this hitherto neglected means." 

"Ah! Madame!" 

" To return to serious things Do you cleverly lead Mira- 
beau to express a desire to see me, and I flatter myself that 
by artfully playing partly upon his greed, and partly upon his 
pride, two passions which are said to be easily aroused in his 
volcanic nature, we shall succeed in bringing him round to our 
side; and our cause is gained if that eloquent crater can be once 
brought to cover our enemies with its glowing streams of lava." 

*Sec Lettres originate* de Mirabeau^ ecriies du donjon de Vincenne*^ fendani 
Us annces 1777, 78, 79 et 80; conUnant tous les deiaih sur sa vie privie^ ses 
malheursy et ses amours avec Sophie Ruffei^ Marquise de Monnier : recueilUet 
par P, Manuel^ Citoyen frangais, 4 vols., 8vo. Paris, Strasboi^ and London, 
1792. Mirabeau was sent to Vincenncs in 1777 for Uie rape of and adultery 
with this same Sophie, on a leitre de cachet obtained by the Marquis de Mira- 
beau, his father. 



I promised the Queen that I would see Mirabeau the next 
morning, knowing that he spent almost the whole of his nights 
in a debauch of wine, food and voluptuousness, in company 
with a number of courtesans, and that he remained the entire 
morning in bed. It was there that he gave his audiences to 
the deputies, magistrates and even women who desired to 
speak to him ; and this without in any way changing his cynical 
habits in the presence of the last. For instance, Mirabeau was 
accustomed to go to bed in the Italian fashion, that is entirely 
naked ; and if, in the course of the conversation, one of his fair 
petitioners roused his rhetorical vein by a retort which was 
opposed to his views, he would withdraw his Herculean arms 
from beneath the coverlet and wave them about in support of 
his arguments. In these moments of declamatory fervour, a 
modest woman might think herself lucky if she escaped the sight 
of the count's hirsute * bust, displayed in all its academic nudity. 

The indentity of the instrument of the first advances made 
to Mirabeau by the Court has up to the present (1808) remained 
veiled in mystery. Nmnbers have claimed the honour, and the 
muse of. romance * has allowed anything and everything to be 
presumed regarding the first steps, which were in reality entrusted 
to me. I must add that I learnt during the Revolution that 
Marie Antoinette had first wished to send Madame la Prin- 
cesse de Lamballe to Mirabeau, and afterwards Madame Campan ; 
but both these ladies had begged to be excused, giving 
as the reason for their refusal the count's boldness and im- 
morality. " If Your Majesty condescends to receive him, " 
the Princess had added, "there is no doubt that the respect 
due to supreme greatness will restrain him within the limits of 
a proper reserve; but believe me, Madame, it will require all 
your sovereign majesty to keep in check the audacity of this 
Philosopher, who regards female virtue as a mere prejudice." 

* In this quality of hairiness, Mirabeau resembled Charles James Fox. 


Mirabeau's house — I am sent by the Queen to seek an interview vnHh him — 
My apprehensions — I have a conversation with the tribune — The real character 
of the interviews between the Queen and Mirabeau — The great orator endeavours 
to induce the Court to adopt a political system — The King and Queen refuse — 
The Queen's antipathy to La Fayette — I am entrusted with an important 
mission —A marshal's baton for the Marquis de Bouill^ — My nocturnal departure. 

If you turn out of the boulevard and follow the Rue de la 
Chaussee-d'Antin for about a third of its length, you will see 
on your right a modest-looking mansion, though furnished with 
a carriage-entrance, and conspicuous for two horses' heads 
sculptured upon the house-front. Now that so many military 
glories, sprung from the cradle of the Revolution, have kept 
busy all the trumpeters of fame, and diverted the memory from 
the first great lights of the tribune, we pass without stopping 
before the house which I have pointed out to you; but it was 
not so during the ten years which followed the death of Mira- 
beau. Little groups were continually forming there, and the 
dreamy poet let his glance rest with rapture upon that abode 
from which issued the mighty soul of the great orator. 

It was towards this house that I turned my steps on a fine 
summer morning in 1790. I had embroidered my theme 
with all the subtlety I possessed, in order to accomplish my 
mission and not expose the Queen to the shame of a refusal. 
As you are by this time aware, I lacked neither assurance nor 
resolution, and I had acquired such practice in the conduct of 
life that I had gained, without any instruction, an amount of 
experience which did not fear to come into contact with the 
most abundant erudition. My adroitness might be compared to 
a musician's: by force of habit I was able to play upon my 
imagination, my wit and my judgment as he would play upon 
his fiddle or his flute .... Nevertheless I felt somewhat embar- 


CHAPTER in 33 

rassed when I reflected upon the immense mental faculties of 
the man I was about to meet .... What, I asked myself, will 
become of my Gascon cunning and loquacity in presence of a 
man like Mirabeau, whose eloquence roars loud as thunder and 
flows swift as a torrent? However, I am in for it, and I must 
get out of it as best I can, if not successfully, at least skilfully. 

My hand was upon the bell-pull, when I was suddenly seized 
with an unfortunate remembrance. You will not have forgotten 
the dispenser of fisticuffs who thought fit so rudely to paint 
my optic black, and whom in revenge I immediately had 
thrashed by my imderlings .... Well, this French ** boxer," as I 
think I told you, was a servant of Mirabeau's .... What was to 
become of me if I should find myself face to face with this man, 
when the door before which I stood was opened? .... I dared 
not pull the bell .... I beheld, by anticipation, this too familiar 
figure presenting itself before me; I imagined the result of a 
recognition ; I heard the valet who had been so finely drubbed 
by my orders denouncing me as a spy to the irascible Mirabeau, 
and the latter commanding the lackey to take in hand a weapon 
of formidable reciprocity .... All this seemed inevitable, should 
my Belleville adversary come to the door. I do not know 
whether a Roman of the heroic age would have turned back 
before such an omen ; but I myself was sorely tempted to retrace 
my steps. 

However, reflection soon came to my aid. I felt that I had 
pledged my word to the Queen, and that it was impossible to 
retreat: I was in the position of a soldier who must either 
conquer or die, because there is nothing but ignominy at his 
back .... I rang .... I cannot at this date describe the effect 
produced on my mind by the sound of the little bronze bell 
which I had just set in motion. A dead man to whom Provi- 
dence had granted the cruel privilege of hearing his death-knell 
would not have been more awe-struck than I was at that mo- 
ment. I heard my heart thump against my breast; my temples 
beat so as to raise my hat from my head; my legs trembled 
beneath me. ... A man came to the door; it was not the 
Belleville "boxer," but a footman as gentle as a young lady, 
who smiled to me in the most agreeable manner, and asked 
me my business. 

VOL. II. 3 


I told him that I had an imp>ortant communication to make 
to M. le Comte, and that if he was engaged, I would wait 
tmtil he could see me in private .... The valet replied that 
M. Mirabeau (no prefix) was alone, and that I should be 
admitted at once, as it was not his master's habit to keep 
" patriots " waiting, when he could help it The servant added, 
somewhat affectedly, that it was not customary "here" to an- 
nounce the names of visitors, since all Frenchmen were equal 
before M. Mirabeau, as before the law. 

This harangue, which seemed to me to be very erudite for 
a lackey, tended to reassure me, since it saved me the annoy- 
ance of giving my name, which naturally conveyed the idea 
of a chignon or a curling-tongs. 

The door of the deputy's bedroom opened, and I beheld his 
rough, pimpled face, crowned with a cotton handkerchief, and 
reclining upon a dainty pillow; and I confess that my resolu- 
tion very nearly abandoned me when I heard a fonnidable voice 
issue from that unprepossessing face, and say: 

"What do you want, monsieur?" 

** Monsieur le comte. ..." 

**My name is Mirabeau; leave out the titles." 

" Monsieur, I have come to see you because I know that the 
Constitutional Monarchy recognizes in you its most eloquent and 
its most sincere defender." 

" And then ? " asked the deputy, with a smile that struck me 
as equivocal. 

" That system of government, whose excellence you have so 
triumphantly proclaimed from the national tribune, admits of a 
king as the agent of the executive.^' 

•* No doubt well ? " 

" Therefore the first and most present duty of that Monarch 
is to come to an understanding and to act in full and entire 
harmony with the legislative powers who place the sceptre in 
his hand .... in other words, with the law." 

" Oho! " said Mirabeau, with some surprise. " Be so good, monsieur, 
as to be seated, and tell me whom I have the honour to address." 

" Monsieur," I replied, very timidly, " I am Leonard " 

"Leonard the poet?" 

** No, monsieur. ..." 


"Ah! I have it, Leonard the " And drawing forth from 

beneath the bed-clothes two brawny bare arms, Mirabeau imi- 
tated the action of curling a fringe. 

"Precisely," L replied, with a somewhat forced smile and a 
slight blush. 

"Well, Monsieur Leonard," resumed Mirabeau, boldly, "the 
Queen had beautiful hair ten years ago." 

I was, I confess, somewhat dumfounded by this ingenious and 
pungent criticism upon my political intervention, and I felt a 
little shaken in my southern sprightliness. However, I did not 
long remain at a loss. 

" Yes, monsieur," I replied, ingenuously, " the Queen had 
beautiful hair ten years ago, and I was well employed in taking 
care of it. But, apart from the fact that that beautiful hair, is be- 
ginning to turn grey, I thought that at a time when distinctions 
of rank have disappeared in the eyes of the law, and when the 
contempt which formerly surrounded such or such a profession is 
no longer an attribute of good citizenship, I too might exercise 
my share in the rights of man, and claim an interview with 
that deputy of the nation who showed himself the most ardent 
promoter of those rights." 

"Well said. Monsieur Leonard. I should have suspected 
from your accent that I had to do with a man of wit . . . Do 
not go and take sides against me with the Abbe Maury ... I 
am at your service." 

"You can readily imagine, monsieur, that I have preserved 
some relations with persons attached to the Court; and I may 
even tell you that those relations are such that the most inti- 
mate conferences of the closet frequently come to my ears." 

"The deuce they do!" 

" So much so, monsieur, that I know of my own certain know- 
ledge that your name is often mentioned by the King and 
even by the Queen ..." 

"My name! and what do they say about me?" asked 
Mirabeau, raising himself eagerly upon his elbow. 
" A deal of good ..." 

" Do you mean that ? I am surprised to hear it ... " 
"That is because you are not aware of the real inclination 

of the Court ..." 


** And that is ... " 

" To tlirow itself into your arms ..." 

"Monsieur Leonard,*' said Mirabeau, looking me straight in 
the face, "have you been sent to me by the Queen?" And 
as he pronounced these words, he raised himself to a sitting 
posture and displayed to my view a bust that must have re- 
sembled Nebuchadnezzar's, what time that monarch played the 
hairy beast. 

" The Queen knows absolutely nothing of the step I have 
taken to-day. Monsieur Mirabeau; but I am none the less con- 
vinced that Her Majesty would set the greatest store upon your 
accession to the Court interest." 

" What is that you say, monsieur ? Have I ever shown myself 
opposed to the interests of the Court ? I have only attacked them 
when I thought them ill-conceived, and when they tended, by 
their maladroit deviations, to destroy the Monarchy itself . . . And 
so you may readily believe that, relying upon the principle of 
the preservation of the rights of the Crown, I should never refuse 
to act in concert with the Sovereign. It was not I who with- 
drew from him: it was he who alienated me..." 

This clever piece of policy, by means of which Mirabeau at 
once, and without compromising himself, entered into the spirit 
of my mission, proved to me that he undoubtedly took me for 
what I actually was, a direct emissary of Marie Antoinette's . . . 
Nor did he for a moment hesitate to add, " I desire that the 
King and Queen should know that I am and I always shall 
be their most faithful servant." 

The Queen was anxiously awaiting the result of my expedition, 
and she was enraptured when I told her of Mirabeau's friendly 
intentions. Her Majesty concluded from tlie circumstantial de- 
tails which I communicated to her that she might safely appoint 
a rendez-vous with the great orator, and I was instructed to 
return to him the next day and inform him of it. The first 
meeting of the Queen and Mirabeau took place at nine o'clock 
the same evening in the garden of the Tuileries, beneath the 
tall chestnut-trees on the left, as you leave the Palace. All the 
memoir-writers agree on this ; but tliey have also added a goodly 
number of lies to this historic episode. Many of them have been 
pleased to represent Mirabeau as a sort of Celadon sighing by 


Marie Antoinette's side, some even say at her feet, and yielding 
so far to the delirium of his senses as to beg a kiss from Her 
Majesty .... Not a word of all this is true. Mirabeau enjoyed, 
and deservedly, the reputation of a man of bad morals, but he 
was before everything an accomplished politician, who would 
have taken excellent care not to do his cupidity an ill turn by 
risking insipid madrigals, which would have only covered him 
with ridicule .... During the two interviews which took place 
between the Queen and Mirabeau, several of Her Majesty's 
ladies stood near enough to hear the conversation, which was full 
of dignity on Marie Antoinette's side and serious and respectful 
on that of Mirabeau. 

After his interviews with the Queen, Mirabeau saw Louis XVI. 
himself, but it is an error to say that the King gave him an 
audience in the cellars of the Tuileries. There is no shadow 
of truth in this romantic embellishment, which may have grat- 
ified the lovers of the marvellous : Mirabeau had too much tact 
to bring any such ridiculous mystery into his reconciliation with 
the Court, when he was bent upon its being known that he was 
acting in accordance with his principles, in which the Monarchy 
ended by acquiescing. 

It was in this way, and only in 1790 (not in 1789, as many 
historians have maintained) that the most influential member of 
the Constituent Assembly negociated with the Crown for the 
sale of that fickle, fluctuating conscience, which had at first 
yielded to an eager feeling of resentment against the nobility, 
and which soon showed itself purchaseable on behalf of the 
Due d'Orleans, and not long after in the interest of the Monarchy 

Mirabeau proposed to Louis XVI. none but those measures 
which would enable him to become the master of the Revolution 
without altering the principle of it; and above all things, he 
recommended the King not to leave France. He may have 
suggested to him that he should withdraw to a fortified camp 
firom which he could have presented the Assembly with a formal 
Constitution, drawn up on the basis which the legislative body 
was then occupied in discussing. Mirabeau may have mentioned 
Montm^dy as a spot in which His Majesty would have been 
able, in safet}% to revise the fundamental law and to impose it, 


with fresh Monarchic additions, upon the French nation. But it 
is certain that never for a moment did Mirabeau accede to the 
plan for a flight from the country. He abhorred the emigration ; 
he spoke of it as an act of signal cowardice; and on the part 
of the Sovereign it would have partaken, in his eyes, of the nature 
of a crime. 

After the death of Mirabeau, Louis XVI., who, in spite of 
that great man's advice, had never renounced his project of 
leaving France, was so ill-advised as to attempt to carry it into 
execution, and it was that which lost him. For it was easy 
to see that the journey to Montmedy was nothing more than 
a pretext. But I am anticipating. 

After concluding with the Court a treaty which was redeemed 
from absolute impartiality by only one clause, that of venality, 
Mirabeau soon perceived that the road of safety which he had 
opened up for the Royal Pair would not be followed. The 
unhappy Louis XVI.'s nature was too persistently arbitrary, and 
the great tribime despaired of subduing the storm which raged 
around the Throne .... But his conscience was sold, and he 
was obliged to ascend the tribune and extenuate the wrongs of 
the Monarchy and repulse the imputations, often only too well- 
founded, uttered against a ti^'o-faced Royalty, whose secret 
proceedings were at perpetual variance with their oflBcial protest- 
ations J . . . I do not hesitate to say that Louis XVI. and 
Marie Antoinette never openly attacked the new order of things 
established against their will; if any plots were imdertaken on 
their behalf, it was not, I firmly believe, with their consent .... 
Their system was one of inert resistance, of contradictory ideas, 
of a succession of petty intrigues, which, without any hope of 
success, led them more and more rapidly towards the principle 
which was to lead to their destruction .... Mirabeau wore out 
his popularity in a deplorable manner, tarnishing his brilliant 
reputation in defence of these Royalist puerilities .... It would 
have been fine on his part, since he had once sold himself to 
the Court, to reconquer, by sheer force of eloquence, that pre- 
ponderance of the Executive Power which the Sovereign had 
allowed to slip from his hands .... Mirabeau's death occurred 
in time to forestall that of his fame .... 

I allowed myself more than once to obser\-e to the Queen 

CHAPTER ni 39 

that M. de La Fayette, although called upon, in his capacity of 
head of the National Guard, to fulfil the duties of a custodian, 
had replaced them by those of a guardian, without Their 
Majesties* deigning to acknowledge it. 

"Ah! as for you, Leonard," replied the Queen, in a tone 
that was almost one of annoyance, " you are in love with M. de 
La Fayette." 

" In love . is not the word, Madame ; but I heard him at 
Versailles solicit the privilege of watching over Your Majesties* 
safety, and I see him daily acting so as to assure it . . . ." 

"Even a benefactor is odious when he appears in the guise 
of a jailer." 

" I am certain that Your Majesty is deceived as to the sen- 
timents of M. de La Fayette . . . ." 

" Leonard," replied the Queen, with a certain haughtiness, ** I 
refuse to be contradicted on this point. Whether rightly or 
from prejudice, I cannot recognize in that man the good inten- 
tions which you attribute to him .... Did you see him during 
that nonsensical farce which they called the federation ? Did he not 
seem to be putting himself forward to the crowd as the sove- 
reign who was to be honoured ? . . . . The King, the descendant 
of St. Louis, had the air of being the first gentleman of a La 
Fayette .... Oh ! it was hideous . . . ." 

I felt that it would be imprudent to insist upon rehabilitating 
the general in the Queen's good graces. Marie Antoinette's 
dislike for M. de La Fayette, sprung perhaps from the independ- 
ence of mind which he had displayed upon his first presentation, 
was now complicated by the violent slight her pride had undergone 
during the feast of the 14th of July on the Champ-de-Mars. 
And it must be agreed that if ever pride had good cause, it 
had it then; for not only had the crowd given a veritable 
ovation to the general commanding the National Guard, but the 
President of the Constituent Assembly, by placing Bailly, the 
Mayor of Paris, on his left, while Louis XVI. stood on his 
right, relegated the King of France and Navarre to the third 
position, since the enthusiasm of the populace raised the friend 
of Washington to the first. 

This circumstance was renewed two or three times during 
the more or less pagan ceremonies celebrated at the altar of 


the fatherland; and it was remarked that the officiating prelate, 
M. de Talleyrand, Bishop of Autiin, in his sacerdotal garb 
embellished with tricoloured ribands, witnessed the humiliation 
of Royalty with a subtle smile which was not in its essence 

When the Queen spoke of this day, and of "the horrors 
that had been committed," a sudden flush would rise to her 
face; her beautiful eyes would flash; and she showed that her 
impression of the 14th of July must have been a very painful 
one. I accordingly renounced my attempts to convince of the 
good-feeling of General de La Fayette a Princess who was evidently 
determined to allow him not one generous action; and of this 
I received positive proof at the time of the flight of the 21st 
of June, 1 79 1, which was destined to be the ruin of the unfor- 
tunate Louis XVI. I shall be able to relate some entirely new 
details concerning this event, the truth of which I trust that no 
one will doubt; for all Europe knows that I was one of the 
most active agents of the Court in the execution of this project. 
But although zealously associating myself with it when called 
upon to do so, I sincerely regretted that the King was deter- 
mined to follow this plan, which was ill-conceived in its origin, 
and awkwardly, and above all not sufficiently secretly, carried 
out in its execution, as I shall soon show. 

Middle-age has its follies as well as youth, and the madnesses 
of the autumn of life are generally madder than those of spring- 
time. I had fallen absolutely in love with Lucette, that daughter 
of my porter of whom I had made an actress, after having promptly 
wearied of her charms. . . . What strange fancies spring in the 
human heart! When this girl first gave herself to me, and 
when I knew that she belonged to me alone, she had inspired 
me with but a passing caprice. Now that her favours were far 
from being my exclusive property, and that she even displayed 
great frankness in pluming herself upon the number of her 
intrigues, I became as love-sick as a Frenchman of the age of 
chivalry or a Spaniard of the time of Ferdinand and Isabella. . . . 
In order to attract this fair and sprightly courtesan, I made 
sacrifices worthy of a farmer-general. Sometimes, when I thought 
of it, I pitied myself; but I took pleasure in yielding to Lucette's 
enchantment; I became intoxicated with her love-philtre, though 


I was fully aware of the deceitful nature of its charm. Nor did she 
hesitate to say to me, with a cynical recklessness which, perhaps, 
made her yet more dear to me (for old rakes have droll ideas) : 

•* Leonard, you have nothing to reproach me with : I am unfaithful 
to you, but I do not deceive you. . . . that is at least an advantage 
over any traffic you might have with an ordinary woman." 

How could I be angry at such a quibble, worthy of Ninon 
in her best days? 

On the 1 2th of June 1791, at ten o'clock in the evening, I 
was in my bed-room, and not alone. The foregoing paragraphs 
will easily enable you to guess with whom it was that I was 
discussing anything rather than politics; and yet the moment 
was approaching when my political importance was to receive 
its greatest development There enter into a man's life stages 
of preoccupation when he does not hear the sound of a ring; 
and it was without any previous warning that my confidential 
servant, discreetly pushing my door, slipped his arm through 
the opening and held out to me a note, which I took from him. . . . 
Lucette was very delicate in all that did not concern matters of 
gallantry. She contented herself with asking me if the missive 
came from a mistress, and upon my replying with a very sharp 
no, accompanied by a pronounced frown, she did not prosecute 
her enquiries further. The note contained these few words: 

"Monsieur Leonard will be so good as to proceed at once 
to the Tuileries. He will go to the small gate giving into the 
Passage des Feuillants; a Swiss called Parent will admit him. 
A footman will await Monsieur Leonard at the door at the foot 
of the Pavilion de Flore, on the garden-side, and will lead him 
to the place where he will be received .... Let there be not 
the smallest delay." 

"I have to go to the Tuileries at once," said I to Lucette. 

" What, at this time of night ? " asked the actress, in surprise. 

I traced with my finger the last line of the note, and she 
read, "Not the smallest delay." 

"True," she said, gravely .... But she resumed, with her 
infectious gaiety, "But there are some things that cause very 
Uttle delay " 


** You charming, mad thing ! " I cried, giving Lucette a kiss .... 
And then .... 

** I told you so," resumed the mischievous actress, ** it was not 
worth calling a delay." And I left. 

I was admitted to the Tuileries with all the mystery for which 
the letter had prepared me, and I was taken through the gloomy 
and deserted apartments to the Queen's closet. There I found 


the King, the Queen and Madame Elisabeth. 

I must here explain that the Princesse de Lamballe had gone 
abroad in the preceding year by the express command of Their 
Majesties. I will hazard no conjecture as to the mission with 
which Her Highness may have been entrusted. I never learnt 
anything for certain concerning this. All that I have since heard 
is that she had brief interviews with the French Princes during 
a stealthy journey to Germany, and that she subsequently re- 
paired to England. But my perfect acquaintance with the 
character and the intellectual resources of Madame de Lamballe 
enables me to add that that angelic creature was of all women 
the least fitted to conduct a political intrigue. Her Highness 
lacked neither wit nor judgment, but nature had denied her that 
strong moral resolution without which no great project can be 
carried to a successful issue, together with that vehemence of 
temperament which in women is the most po'tent fiactor in any 
transcendental action. These qualities were to be found in such 
women as Catherine II. and Maria Theresa, while the suave 
organization of Madame de Lamballe was notable rather for that 
sublime longanimity, that superb, noble courage which we call 
resignation, and of which she was to give the world such strik- 
ing proofs subsequent to the events of June, 1791, to which I 
now return. 

I found the King seated on a little sofa in the Queen's closet. 
His Majesty, who sometimes complained of full-bloodedness after 
dinner, had removed his collar. Nevertheless his face seemed 
higher in colour than usual, a symptom which I attributed to 
some keen excitement, of which I was doubtless about to hear 
the cause. The Queen and Madame Elisabeth were seated in 
arm-chairs on either side of the sofa. Louis XVI. was the first 
to address me. 

*' Leonard," said His Majesty, in the gentle accents that had 


for some years become habitual to him, ''your zeal and fidel- 
ity have long been known to us; and you have doubtless 
perceived that on more than one occasion our confidence in 
you has proved that we appreciate your devotion." 

"Sire," I replied, with a bow, "I am overwhelmed with the 
kindness of Your Majesty and the Queen . . . ." 

** To-day, Leonard," resumed the King, laying great stress 
upon his words, " I look to you for a further and more important 
proof of that devotion, and I will say at once that I do not 
believe I could choose a better agent than yourself for my pur- 
pose, which is one requiring not only zeal but intelligence." 

Here the Queen and Madame Elisabeth endorsed the King's 
compliment in the most flattering fashion: 

"Certainly, certainly!" said the two Princesses together. Louis 
XVI. continued : 

" It is necessary, sir, that you should know all : follow me 

"Sire, I will give the closest attention to Your Majesty's 
words . . . ." 

"You know better than anybody," said the King, "the cour- 
age and resignation I have shown of late. While my wife, 
my sister and my aunts, * all who surrounded me, were yielding 
to the liveliest alarm, I remained calm and serene, for I had 

nothing to reproach myself with My friends, whether well 

or ill-advised, urged me to leave the Kingdom, but I 
invariably replied that a father should not leave his children 
when passion turns their thoughts away from their duty .... 
I do not even now accept their advice in its entirety, but I 
have determined to follow it in so far as it agrees with the plan 
of a man whose loss we all regret .... I mean Mirabeau. I 
shall set out in a few days for a camp which I am about to 
order the Marquis de Bouille t to form at Montmedy. And 
this order, my dear Leonard, I wish you to carry to the general, 
together with the patent and insignia of a Marshal of France .... 

'Mesdames Tantes had recently left France. 

"f* Francois Claude Amour, Marquis de Bouilld, 1739 — z8oo, one of Louis XVI.'s 
mo«t devoted adherents. He joined the Princes at Coblentz after the frustrated 
attempt at escape of the Royal Family, and subsequently journeyed to the 
different courts of Europe, in a vain attempt to obtain the King's deliverance. 
Finally he withdrew to England, where he published his Memot'res sur la 
rivolutton in 1797. 


You can see the importance of this mission. Bouilli has suffi- 
cient troops under his command, carefully chosen from among 
those not yet infected with the spirit of the Revolution .... But 
he must receive his instructions with the most scrupulous pre- 
ciseness, so that he may have the opportunity first to concentrate 
his forces, and then to provide me with an escort . . . ." 

" Why does not Your Majesty say to provide us with an 
escort?" exclaimed the Queen, eagerly. 

"Madame," replied Louis XVI., **you shall know my wishes 
presently; let me finish what I have to say to Leonard." And 
turning to me, " A gentleman of my Household, even if I knew 
of one whose capacity was equal to yours (a deep bow from 
me) would not have been nearly so well-fitted for the mission 
which you are to undertake .... I do not want a man of luxurious 
habits, a sybarite unable to travel save in a soft-springed post- 
chaise .... What I want is a sturdy fellow like yourself, strong 
on his legs, and able to make his way across country and, if 
necessary, to swim a river, rather than fall into some ambush 
of Patriots .... Your errand is to reach Montmedy, as the bird 
flies, within three days: do you accept it, Leonard?" 

** Most gladly. Sire. I will set out in an hour, furnished with 
as light a luggage as when I entered Paris twenty-two years ago, 
and I undertake to reach Montmedy in less time than Your 
Majesty has allowed me ..." 

" I have no doubt of it," replied Louis XVI., with a kindly 
smile. " And do not forget, Leonard, that a King of France 
can make a gentleman of the messenger who, to serve him, is 
able to walk like a hair-dresser's apprentice ..." 

These words were spoken with a smile; but I was well able 
to see that the King meant his promise seriously. I suddenly 
felt a glow thrilling through my veins . . . Ah, vanity ! 

Drawing from his pocket a despatch folded into a small 
compass and bearing no address, the King handed it to me, 
saying : 

" You know to whom to give it . . . that is enough . . ." 

At the same time the Queen rose, went to her secretaire, and 
returned with an article fifteen or sixteen inches in length, which 
she handed to the King. 

" Here is the marshal's baton of the Marquis de Bouille," 

CHAPTER ni 45 

said the King, giving it to me. And as His Majesty doubtless read 
upon my features some signs of embarrassment, he added : 

"You seem to think it rather bulky." 

"I confess that, having regard to the mystery necessary to my 
expedition, it* would have been desirable that I should not have 
to dread what the presence of this symbol of the highest military 
rank might reveal." .' 

"I have made the same reflection," said Madame Elisabeth, 
timidly . . . 

** Sister," replied the King, ** Ltenard is clever enough to con- 
ceal that baton from every eye . . . Moreover, in the last ex- 
tremity, he will bury it beneath a bush or throw it away from 
him, should the danger become too urgent . . . But only in the 
last extremity, do you hear, Leonard ? ... It has always been the 
custom xmder the reign of the Kings my ancestors that the in- 
signia of the highest military distinction should be remitted to 
the holder by the Sovereign: to depart from this usage would 
be to attack the prerogative of the Throne and to lessen the 
sovereign grandeur ... we are particularly anxious that M. de 
Bouille should receive the baton which we send him ..." 

Madame Elisabeth began to smile ; and I seemed to read upon 
her gracious features some such thought as: 

•* And in order to avoid attacking either the prerogative of the 
Throne or the sovereign grandeur. His Majesty sends M. de 
Bouille his marshal's baton by the hand of a- coiffeur." 

**Go, Leonard, and good luck go with you," resumed Louis 
XVI., giving me his Royal hand, which I respectfully pressed 
to my heart. "Remember that not only our hopes, but perhaps 
the sole chances of safety for the Monarchy, depend upon you 
from to-night ... I will not detain you longer ..." 

The Queen and Madame Elisabeth gave me their hands to 
kiss, and I took leave of the three illustrious personages, proud 
of their confidence, and solemnly promising to fulfil their wishes 
at the risk of my life. 

** I am leaving for the frontier this moment," I said to Lucette, 
w\^o had been reading while awaiting my return. 

"Has the King made you a general?" asked the mad-cap, 
with a laugh. 

"Do not ask any questions; I could not answer them .... 


You are a good girl, and I believe you love me sincerely ; look 
after my house .... I must set out at once ....** 

"Are they going to bring the post-hotscs here then?" 

"No, I am going on foot . . . ." 

" On foot, like the wandering Jew!" exclaimed Lucette, in sur- 
prise .... " In all but my financial resources," I replied, going 
to my desk and putting in my pocket two rolls of a hundred 
louis each .... ** Adieu adieu. One last kiss . . . ." 

"Tell me, Leonard, that journey on foot. ..." 

I left my house at half past midnight ; one o'clock struck from 
the tower of La Chap>elle as I stepped on to the plain of Saint* 
Denis, up to my ankles in mud. 


It is proposed that the Queen and the Children of France shall go to 
Brussels — Marie Antoinette refuses to leave the King before he is in satety — 
A natural deduction from this fact — The vicissitudes of mv journey — My rough 
apprenticeship as a horseman — The little shepherd — The sham carter — My letter 
to the Marqub de Bouill6 — A coiffeur godfather to a Marshal of France— Bouill^'s 

I was not in a position to learn at the time what happened at 
the Tuileries after my departure, but when in Brabant next year, 
I heard it from the lips of a distinguished personage, who was in 
Louis XVI.'s full confidence. Discretion compels me to keep 
the name of this person secret, he being now in a very diflferent 
position from that which his opinions and devotion in 1791 would 
lead one to expect ; but his name will be no mystery to observers 
who have studied the pageantry of the Revolution. I will give 
the story as he told it to me at Brussels shortly after the arrest 
of the King at Varennes. I took the precaution to write it down 
at the time, as a dociunent of the greatest interest. 

"On the 1 8th of June," said he, "I was commanded to wait 
upon the Ring. I found him seated at his writing-desk, leaning 
his head on his hand, and apparently plunged in profound 
meditation. After a time he raised his eyes, saw me, and said : 

** * If, monsieur, I knew a man more worthy than yourself of 
my confidence and esteem, I would choose him for the part 
which I am about to entrust to you.' 

" I bowed low, and enthusiastically repeated the vow I had 
sworn to be faithful to him. 

" *I shall leave on the night of the 19th,* said Louis, 'together 
with the Queen and the Dauphin, for the camp at Montmedy. 
I wish you to set out to-day for Brussels. You will there await 
my despatches, which will be of the highest importance, and 
win, I am sure of it, give you the greatest satisfaction.' 


t * 


** * Sire, I shall always regard it as a high favour to be permit- 
ted to give you any proof of my zeal.* 

•* * See no one, ' resumed His Majesty, * speak to no one what- 
ever of what I have told you, and await the packet I have 
mentioned at Brussels: I repeat, it will give you the keenest 
gratification to receive it.* 

**! left the King, much perturbed in my mind as to the 
contents of the packet which was to give me such great pleasure, 
and still more as to the consequence of His Majesty's proposed 
expedition. I thought that the latter must be very ill arranged, 
if the whole of the Royal Family were to travel in the same 
carriage. But Louis XVI. had given me no time to make a 
single observation, and according to him, nothing was so urgent 
as my departure for Brussels. 

** I was hastening to return home and prepare for my journey, 
when an officer of the Queen told me that Her Majesty desired 
to see me. I was ushered through the private apartments, but 
at the moment when I was entering Marie Antoinette's room, 
the King's footstep was heard approaching. 

"'Withdraw for a little while,' said the Queen; *the King 
will not stay long. You can return when he has gone: I wish 
to speak with you.' 

**I went into the library, and after waiting for a quarter o 
an hour, I was told that the Queen would receive me. Her 
Majesty had always overwhelmed me with kindnesses, and my 
attachment for her knew no limits. Of this she was well aware, 
and so soon as she saw me, she said: 

"*You have just seen the King. I know he has forbidden 
you to speak to any one of the orders you have received; but 
I thought I ought to explain to you the enigma of the packet 
you were to look forward to receiving: it will contain the news 
that the King intends to confide to your care myself, my 
daughter and my son.' 

"'O. Madame,' cried I, throwing myself at the Queen's feet, 
* do not render useless my zeal for the sacred persons of Your 
Majesty, of Monseigneur le Dauphin, and of Madame. By depart- 
ing with the King, you will needlessly expose yourself .... 
Since I am thought worthy of receiving this most august charge 
from my master, deign to confide yourself to me entirely. 



Nothing would be easier than that I should take out a passport 
for myself, my wife and my children under an assumed name. 
We should leave at the same time as the King, but would follow 
another road; and you would be at Brussels before it was known 
that Your Majesties had left the Tuileries. ' 

•* * No, ' replied the Queen, firmly, * I have sworn not to leave 
the King before he is in a place of safety, and that will only 
be at Montmedy. ' 

" I tried in vain to dissuade Her Majesty from persisting in 
this dangerous resolve ; nothing could induce her to abandon it. 
Those who have doubted the Queen's devotion to duty would 
have relinquished this insulting opinion had they seen her, as 
I did, solemnly and with dignity refusing the only course which 
would have saved her from risking to fate her destiny and that 
of her children. The event proved that if she had followed 
my advice, she would have escaped from her enemies, since 
Monsieur was able to leave France without interference by the 
same road which I would have had the Queen take. But it 
seemed to her that she would be purchasing her life at the cost 
of an act of cowardice, had she consented to be parted from 
the King before being certain that he had no more to fear. As I 
continued to implore the Queen to take my advice, she 
resumed : 

"'Let us speak no more of this; I am absolutely determined, 
and all that you can say would be useless .... I did not send 
for you in order to arrange the details of the journey, but so 
that you might know what to expect in the packet, and also- 
because I wished to anticipate by a few days the pleasure you 

would experience on witnessing our arrival at Brussels And 

now go, take your family with you; we shall soon meet again.* " 

This narrative should suffice to settle the opinion of the his- 
torians upon the flight of Louis XVL It was evidently the 
Monarch's intention to send the Queen, the Heir to the Throne, 
and the Princess Royal to Brussels, and doubtless Madame 
Elisabeth also. And he would scarcely have done this, had he 
not intended himself later to follow them. 

In order not to transpose the order of my recital, I must now 
speak of the far from sentimental journey which I undertook 

VOL. n. 4 


by the King's order on the 13th of June, 1791. Up to the 
present, I have had to relate none but anecdotes of the toilet, 
adventures of the petilet maitons, with an occasional literary 
episode and at most a rapid glimpse of politics. But now a 
fresh subject occupies ray pen : amber, musk, powder-puffs, patches 
and ribbons vanish from my horizon, and I become a Royal 
emissary, almost an ambassador, travelling by night and upon 
the most natural vehicle of locomotion along the road to Ger- 
many, with an important despatch and a marshal's baton in my 
pocket, my head full of ambitions of ennoblement, and my feet 

splashed with mud to the ankles for the philanthropic reforms 

and amendments with which the National Assembly had employed 
itself during the past two years had not yet been extended to 
the keeping of our high-roads in regular repair. 

And if I bemired myself like this when following one of the 
most l"requente<l roads of the Kingdom, what must I have thoi^ht 
of that journey "as the bird flies" which His Majesty, seated 
on the Queen's sofa, had deigjied to predict to me ? But such 
was my longing to found the illustrious race of the Barons de 
Leonard that I attached but slight importance to the assured 
difficulties and probable dangers of my expedition. For it would 
have been sheer blind indifference not to have liad any fear of 
being compromised, in a part of the country swarming with citizens 
playing at National Guards, while I carried upon my person an 
article covered with those fleun-dt-lys which were beginning to 
arouse suspicion. It might, it is true, liave been taken at the 
first glance for a Rouen sugar-stick, but the inquisitive patriots 
were not the people to content themselves with an examinalloa 
of the outside alone, and my baton, divested of its wrapper, 
would be sure lo consign me to some village lock-up, in which 
my noble posterity would die a still-bom death. 

While my hopes were being mingled with these appre- 
hensions, I arrived at break of day at the gates of Meaux, * 
having taken advantage of some returning pust-hoises, on which 
I had been permitted to jog along uneasily, in return for a 
liberal consideration to the ostlers, to say nothing of certain 
notable portions of my epidermis, removed from a part which 
I will not name : but I had succeeded in covering eleven 

*43 kilometrci (t6Vi mile*) from Parii. 

CHAPTER rv 51 

leagues* in three hours, and I resolved to avail myself of this 
resource as often as possible, despite the suffering my flesh 
might be compelled to undergo. I encouraged myself to submit 
to such little bodily sacrifices with the reflection that if so many 
illustrious families had formerly paid for their title-deeds with 
their blood shed in battle, I ought not to be too sensitive to a 
slight waste of the buttocks (I can find no synonym) encoun- 
tered in the King's service. 

The custom of demanding passports was not yet general in 
the interior of France in June 1791: the apostles of liberty 
showed themselves as yet economical of measures attacking the 
principle which they so loudly proclaimed. Nevertheless, a guard 
was mounted in every village, and travellers were liable to be 
arrested if their costume or general appearance was in any way 
out of the ordinary. 

Now this was precisely my case. My hair, dressed in the 
fashion of the ancUn rigimt, my clothing, which, without being 
dandified, recalled to some extent that of the gentry of the 
Court, drew the attention of the inhabitants whom I encountered 
on entering Meaux, and I came to the conclusion that if I was 
already examined with curiosity, I might soon be regarded with 
disquietude. My decision was taken without delay : a number 
of carter's smocks hung flapping in the breeze, awaiting a 
customer, and I purchased one, as though I were a neigh- 
bouring landlord, taking care to explain that this rustic garment 
was wanted for my valet. The same pretence put me in stead, 
a little further, to buy a striped cotton night-cap, a large, round, 
flat hat, and a pair of strong brogues, midway between the shoes 
of a country curate and those of a carter. 

Having packed up my purchases, I quietly turned back, retired 
behind a little plantation to the left of the high-road, and there 
effected a di^uise which would have deceived even those who 
might have met me on the outskirts of Meaux. My dainty 
ouraw Toyal was hidden beneath my striped cap covered with 
the wide six-franc hat; my smock concealed my coat; and my 
coarse shoes helped to complete my di^uise The hand- 
some beaver and the buckled shoes which I had discarded I 
left behind beneath a heap of dried leaves ; one would have 

* About 18 mik*. 



been justihed in making a greater sacrifice than this for the 
safety of the Monarchy. 

Thus transmogrified into a clumsy wagoner, with a hazel 
stick in my hand, I boldly crossed the town in which Bossuet 
flourished.* Nobody took notice of me, and I breakfasted 
safely and copiously in a wagoners' tavern, in the suburb skirt- 
ing the extreme north of Meaux. 

Fortunately, there was no lack of returning post-horses along 
the road to Chateau-Thierry and Epemay, nor did I fail to use 
them. I had thought of hiring, from post to post, a series of 
those uncomfortable chaises which the post-masters are always 
able to find for one ; but a carter travelling in this fashion might 
have awakened suspicions. I resigned myself to enduring the 
cruel apprenticeship which a journey on horseback at full-speed 
entailed for a coiffeur whose first equestrian attempt clashed as 
loudly with preconceived notions as does a cavalcade of sailors. 
A charitable postilion taught me the curative properties of a 
candle inserted in my breeches. I tried it, and benefited 

Thanks to my disguise, I escaped any disquiet on the road. 
I was not obliged to travel as the bird flies, any more than to 
cross rivers by swimming them, an heroic expedient to which I 
should in no event have been able to resort for want of an ac- 
quaintance with the first principles of the art of natation. 

On the evening of the 14th of June I reached the little town 
of Dun-sur-Meuse, and learnt that M. de Bouille was at Mont- 
medy, which was some three or four leagues further. ... I thought 
it would be imprudent to seek to make my way into a fortified 
camp at the very entrance to which my secret, in other words 
the secret of the Court, might be betrayed. I accordingly 
determined to send a local express to the marshal-elect; but I 
must take this step in such a way as to attract the general's 
attention without compromising either him, or myself, or the 
cause which we both served. 

A little shepherd, whom I met on the road, beating the 
ground with his crook while his sheep were browsing in the 
surrounding fields, impressed me as looking stupid enough 
to pass in without inspiring distrust, and nimble enoiigh to 

* Bossuet was Bishop of Meaux from 168 1 until his death in 1704. 


reach Montmidy before the gates were closed and to bring me 
a reply early the next morning. 

"Hark ye, my lad," said I, addressing him with the rough- 
ness natmul to a carter, " are you the boy to go to Montmedy 
to-night and do an errand for which you will be paid beforehand 
and well paid into the bargain?" 

**Ay, good man," replied the young shepherd, 'I'll go to 
Montmedy to-night for ye and come Ijack too." 

"Not to-night?" 

** Ay, indeed I will. . . . 111 just tell the officer at the gate that 
I want to come home to sleep like .... and the toll-keeper 
knows me, you see, good man. ..." 

"In that case, my lad, you can start at once." 

** Ah, but I must first take my sheep back to the farm ..." 

** That's true. Well, when will you be ready ? " 

** In less than half an hour." 

•* I will wait for you at the door of the Lion d* Argent, where 
I am stopping; don't be long." 

** No danger of that, good man." 

I had prepared my letter for M. de Bouille beforehand. I 
have found a copy of it among my papers, and here it is, with 
the carter's spelling with which I had thought it advisable to 
reinforce my ordinary mistakes in orthography: 

"Monsieur le marquis, 

"One of my wagons holds some furniture and trunks which 
are for you. I have gone before my mate, who is driving it, 
because I feared I might meet with some trouble from the 
customs-officers as I got nearer the frontier. And so I pray 
you, monsieur le marquis, to jump on your horse and come 
yourself to Dun, where I will wait for you and see that nothing 
happens to the load I have for you. 

"I am, monsieur le marquis, with respect, 

"JEAN ROBLIN, Carter." 

A load of trunks and furniture forwarded to a place where 
M. de Bouille was in command was not likely to raise any 
suspicions of a political intrigue, especially at a time when the 
marquis, one of the heroes of the American War of Indepen- 


dence, was regarded without distrust in the Assembly. . . . On 
the other hand I hop>ed that the general, who doubtless expected 
neither trunks nor furniture from Paris, would readily suspect 
that some mystery lurked beneath this affair, and that he would at 
least think it worth while to ride across from that short distance 
and make sure. The result showed that I was not mistaken. 

My young shepherd was punctual at the meeting-place. 
Seated on the stone bepch before the door of the inn, I saw 
him run up, carrying his clogs in his hand, and quite ready, 
said he, to cover the distance from Dun to Montm6dy in less 
than two hours, thanks to his freedom from any foot-gear to 
impede his progress. 

I gave the shepherd a big crown of six livres, and promised 
him another on his return, if he fulfilled my errand intelligently. 
I next gave him my letter, and off he went. 

I chose a room sufficiently removed firom the traffic of the 
inn to enable me to have an interview with M. de Bouille 
without being overheard by the goers and comers. It is easOy 
understood that I did not go to bed. 

About midnight, a carriage drew up at the door of the inn; 
I heard a voice asking for the carter who had arrived that 
morning, and a few seconds later M. de Bouille entered my 
room with my little messenger, whom he had brought back 
behind his post-chaise. 

" Is it you, master, who wrote to me ? " asked the general, 
fixing his eyes upon my features, as though he recognized me. 

" Yes, monsieur le marquis, " I replied, with a wink that 
clearly meant, " Say nothing until we are alone. " And I added, 
" Let me first pay this honest lad, and send him home to bed : 
he needs it, I am sure. " 

"That's true," said the young shepherd, holding out his 
hand for the second crown of six livres I had promised him ; 
and then, drawing back his mud-covered foot, he thanked me, 
bowed, and disappeared. 

" You are no carter, " exclaimed the marquis, stepping towards 
me when I returned from bolting the door. 

"No, monsieur the marshal," I replied, with all the pride of 
a man entrusted with an important errand. 

"Why do you give me that title?" 


"Only because I have come to bring you the patent and 
insignia. " 

" You are a messenger from the Court, " said M. de Bouille, 
lowering his voice. 

" And this is the present which I bring you from the King." 

With these words, I drew the baton, all covered with fleurt- 
de-lys, from under my smock, and handed it to the marquis, 
together with the Royal despatch, which he opened eagerly. 

"You ate Monsieur Leonard," cried the general, overcome 
with joy. " I thought I recognized you. Truly, I might have 
thought it; you are the only intelligent, I am not sure that you 
are not the only really devoted person left at the Court of our 
unhappy King .... Well, my dear Monsieur Leonard, embrace 

me you are my godfather, since you represent Louis XVI. ! 

.... And now what have you to tell me? For His Majesty 
has prepared me for secrets which he was not willing to trust 
to paper." 

" That is so, monsieur le marquis. Fray be seated, and I will 
tell you all." 

I then narrated to. the new marshal the proposed Sight of 
the King, with all the arrangements for its execution, in which 
His Majesty relied upon the assistance of the marquis at the 
head of the troops under his command. 

"When does the King propose to start?" asked M. de Bouill^, 

" If there has been no change in His Majesty's plans, he will 
leave the Tuileries on the night of the iQth." 

"And the first intimation I receive of it is on the 15th! "cried 
the marquis, in a stilled voice, turning pale. 

"General," said I, in the firm tones of a man who has no- 
thing to reproach himself for, " I left Faris at one o'clock at 
night on the 13th to fulfil the mission which the King had en- 
trusted to me an hour before, and I was here, at fifty leagues 
from the capital, on the 14th, at six o'clock in the evening . , ," 

"Nor is it you, my dear Leonard, that I find fault with, 
^ad ! I can see that, with all the difficujties you tiave had to 
encounter, your diligence has not been in default, But why did 
the King not let me know earlier? .... How can I now guarantee 
the safety of this journey ? , . , . I ought to have had time to 



deploy cavalry secretly along the borders of the roads from here 
to the gates of Paris, so that in case of any obstacles being 
placed in the way of His Majesty's journey, my detachments 
might have been able to cut down that scum ofa National Guard 
and carry away the King from them .... By the way, I hope 
the King comes alone ..." 

" I think not, monsieur le marquis; I believe that it was ananged 
by the Royal Family that Madame Elisabeth and the Children 
of France should be taken to Brussels, but that the Queen was 
to accompany the King . . ," 

"This is the height of folly and absurdity. By God! the 
Queen has chosen a bad moment for this display of conjugal 
heroism." And M. de Bouille shrugged his shoulders. "How 
could the King have listened to such an tinfortunate fancy ? . . . 
And here am I left to execute a military movement, the conse- 
quences of which it is impossible to foresee, with a woman ! . . , 
My dear Leonard, I am in despair . , . I have the saddest fore- 
boding about the King's journey, and the sorrow all this gives 
me spoils the honour the King has done me in promoting me ... . 
Do you return to Paris?" asked M. de Bouille, sharply. 

" It was my intention to await the King, in order to acquaint 
him with the result of my errand." 

"It would be better for you to go and meet His Majes^. 
Go as far as you can, short of returning to Paris before the 
King's journey has succeeded. ... if it is to succeed," added 
the marquis with a sigh. "When you meet the King," con- 
tinued M. de Bouille, speaking with ardour, " be sure to tell 
His Majesty that I am devoted to his service, and ready to 
shed the last drop of my blood in aid of his endeavours. Say 
nothing of the obstacles which I foresee; it is too late now to take 
any precautions; we must combat them by force, without lettii^ 
Louis XVI. fear that they will beat us. . . . Adieu; I shall return to 
Montmedy, and will give my orders to the troops at break of day," 

With these words the Marquis de Bouille took his leave; 
T have not seen him since. 


Tbe result of a political mission declared on a carriage-step — The patterns — 
Mademmselle Bertm*s embarrassment — Her advice to the Queen — Count Fersen — 
Tha wrong turning — The Queen goes on foot in the mud — The noble coachman- 
Departure of the Royal Family on the night of the 19th of June, 1791. 

CoifViNCED that the marquis was right in advising me not to 
return to Paris before the King's departure, I retraced my steps 
briskly, so as to meet His Majesty just outside the capital. This 
journey was more painful than the first; I had to keep to the 
high-road night and day in order not to miss the King when he 
came in sight ; for there was nothing to tell me that His Majesty 
had not anticipated the hour of his departure .... In this way, 

watching and waiting, I arrived within three leagues of Paris 

It was there that the imprudent and useless bustle of a huge 
travelling-carriage informed me of the presence of the illustrious 
fugitive .... I trembled for the consequence of the journey 
^en I beheld an enormous berlin, heavily loaded, with seated 
on the box three persons whom it was easy to recognize as 
soldiers in disguise. This ponderous carriage, rolling slowly along, 
was followed by a second coach, also loaded like a diligence. 

But what was my alarm when I saw that not only did the 
Queen accompany the King, but that the Children of France 
were also travelling with His Majesty, and that three or four 
ladies were packed in the second carriage! 

When I recall to mind this veritable caravan, I cannot con- 
ceive how LouLs XVI. could have travelled as far as Varcnnes 
without being recognized and stopped. Moreover, the King took 
no precaution to keep his flight a secret: I Icamt that His 
Majesty, whose portrait was to be found in ever}'body*s pocket, 
sat by the window, and sometimes stepped out and walked, and 
th&t the Queen was no more careful to hide her remarkable and 

characteristic face .... 



I at once recognized Louis XVI., although I met him in the 
middle of the night; and I called out, from the centre of the 
high-road : 

" I am Leonard. " 

" Leonard, Leonard, " came from the back seat of the berlin, 
in a woman's voice, which I recognized as that of the Queen . . . 
and the carriage stopped . . . 

The King made me stand on the step, and I told him of 
my mission with full details, emphasizing all the words of con- 
solation which the marquis had charged me to speak to His 

Majesty Alas ! I filled the monarch and his family with 

hopes which I myself did not share, especially after I had 
perceived with what imprudence the Royal Family were trav- 
elling .... The whole of the august family overwhelmed me 
with thanks, with protestations of gratitude, and with brilliant 
promises. And finally, as I was taking leave of the King, he 
said, raising his voice : 

** Monsieur Leonard, whatever happens, I hope that we shall 
soon meet again .... Should anything unexpected take place, 
do not forget that we are to meet again. " 

Day broke as I entered Paris, and I hastened to get rid of 
my smock frock. I was eager to know how Their Majesties 
had effected their escape from the Tuileries, and I hurried to 
Mademoiselle Bertin, whom I knew to be well-informed in that 

" I fear our kind master and mistress will not succeed in their 
attempt," said the Queen's ex-milliner. "I may be mistaken, 
but it seems to me that their flight is known to the pa- 

** My dear, what are you saying ? " 

" Listen, Leonard ; you cannot know what has happened since 
the 13th, as you were away. I myself never left the Chiteau 
during the four days preceding the departure of the Royal Fam- 
ily, and I noticed a number of imprudences quite sufficient to 
arouse the suspicions of General de La Fayette." 

" Of him alone ? " 

"Why do you ask that, Leonard?" 

"See here, my dear Rose, I will not conceal from you what 
I think, however strange my opinion may seem to you ..." 


** Well, what is your opinion ? " 

" That General de La Fayette is delighted at being freed of his 
equivocal charge at Court. That well-meaning man was in fact 
in one of the most false of positions : the patriots accused him 
of indulgence, and the respectful regard which he always dis- 
played towards Their Majesties has up to the present only won 
him severity on the King's part and scorn on the Queen's.** 

" That is true. " 

**And I naturally conclude that, in order to be relieved from 
this false position, M. de La Fayette would be only too pleased 
to witness the departure of the Royal Family." 

" There is some truth also in that. I will tell you what hap- 
pened to me on the morning of the i8th. I was hurriedly 
crossing the Carrousel to go to the Queen, with my eyes cast 
down on the pavement, as people do who think as they walk, 
and I was on the point of knocking up against some one coming 

in my direction, when, hearing his footstep, I raised my eyes 

It was M. de La Fayette 

" * What a fine day, mademoiselle,* said he, with an amiable 
smile. * It is really too bad to be kept in town when one could 
derive so much pleasure from the country.* 

" * What keeps you, monsieur le marquis ? * 

" * The most tyrannical of all despots, duty.* 

• * It is true, general, you have accepted one * 

"* Which Their Majesties, and the Queen in particular, have 
a singular opinion of; and I tell you frankly, it is that which 
renders it so irksome to me.' 

"*Why not rid yourself of it, monsieur le marquis?' 

" * I see, Mademoiselle Bertin, that you also share the Queen's 

illusion But cannot you understand,* continued the general, 

pressing my arm, *that if I were to yield my office to another, 
the lot of Their Majesties, painful as it undoubtedly is, would 
become intolerable ?* 

"Then, suddenly changing the subject, M. de La Fayette 
drew from his pocket a little green morocco letter-case, opened 
it, took from it a paper which he unfolded, and continued, lightly : 

" * You have great taste, mademoiselle ; I must consult you on 

a subject upon which your opinion is law Here are two 

patterns, one of silk and the other of cloth, which have been 


selected by some one of my acquaintance for travelling- 
dresses . . . .' 

" I thought for a moment that the blood would freeze in 
my veins: the stuffs which the general had shown me were 
the patterns for the clothes which the King and Queen were 

having made up for their departure HoweTer, I would allow 

neither my bearing nor my features to betray me ; and although 
M. de La Fayette looked at me fixedly, I gave no sign of the 
violent agitation which devoured my bosom .... 

" 'When people travel in the month of June/ resumed the 
general, with a smile full of meaning, *the night-time is prefer- 
able to the day, and I should think that light-coloured stufis 
are not the best suited to the occasion: what do you think, 
mademoiselle ? ' 

" * I think, monsieur le marquis, that light colours are not yet 
quite seasonable this year, when the fine weather is so long in 
coming, and that your friends would do well to choose some 
darker shades.' 

" * I agree with your opinion, mademoiselle, and I recommend 
you to impress it upon any one whom you know to be about 
to make a journey Yours to conunand ' 

"Clearly, M. de La Fayette had been informed of the projected 
flight of the King and his family; but also it was evident that 
he had no intention of preventing it, for he is well aware that 
the Queen honours me with her friendship, and the object of 
his little fable of the patterns was imdoubtedly to enable me to 
give Her Majesty fair warning 

"Yet I felt exceedingly embarrassed. The Queen had not 
told me of the King's plans: I could not let her know that I 
had heard of them. How, then, was I to warn Their Majesties 
of the risk they were running? For M. de La Fayette must 
have had a motive in speaking to me. I had learnt, L^nard, 
that you were employed in the execution of this great scheme, 
but you were already gone to prepare the road ; I did not know 
where to find you, and I was still in want of a medium to 
bring to the Queen's ears what I had heard. 

" Nevertheless, I looked upon this as indispensable : the future 
might conceal events which would render my silence very re- 
prehensible. I determined to inform Her Majesty, while covering 


my communication with the same veil of mystery that M. de 
La Fayette had cast over his. 

***Has Your Majesty/ I asked the Queen on the morning 
of the 19th, * forgotten your toilet for the summer? You have 
not yet given me my orders; and since there is still time, I 
must not neglect to tell you that this year light-coloured stuffs 
have been forbidden by the doctors, both for gentlemen and 
ladies . . . / 

***Why so, Mademoiselle Rose?' asked Her Majesty, care- 
lessly, not attaching to my words any idea bearing upon her 
secret expedition. 

** * The gentlemen of the Faculty say, Madame, that the light 
colour of a stuff presupposes lightness of texture, and that this 
year especially one should be careful not to conmience one's 
summer dress too early, particularly in travelling . . . .* 

** The Queen looked at me fixedly, and said : 

** * Mademoiselle Rose, it is some more direct reason than 
the doctors' opinions that makes you talk to me like that.' 

** ' Madame, I assure you . . . .' 

" * You are hinting at something . . . .' 

" * Since Your Majesty guesses the truth, I will tell the whole 
of it: I am almost certain that the journey which the King 
and Your Majesty propose to take has become known to M. 
de La Fayette, and that some unfaithful person has sent him 
the patterns of the dresses Your Majesties are to wear on the 
day of your departure ' 

"*M. de La Fayette knows of it!' cried the Queen. 'Then 
we are lost.' 

** * I think not, Madame, for it is the general himself who 
gave me the warning which I have ventured to express to you; 
and had his intentions been hostile, he would naturally have 
refrained firom communicating with you . . . .' 

" * That is true .... I do not know what to think .... In any 
case,' resumed Her Majesty, sadly, and after a moment's reflec- 
tion, *we must give up our scheme.' 

'"I would not dare, Madame, to hazard an opinion in so 
delicate a circumstance, and Your Majesty will doubtless think 
proper to confer with the King.' 

" * That is what I shall do at once .... But see here. Made- 


moiselle Rose, there must be some secret perfidy lurking beneath 
La Fayette's conduct. Perhaps he means to let us go, with 
the intention of accusing us afterwards to the Assembly.' 

"'He would first be accused himself, Madame, and the motive 
which Your Majesty supposes would only be received by the 
Assembly as a poor excuse for his negligence, if not his com- 
plicity . . . .' 

" * Your observation is very reasonable, and I am perhaps a 
little too much prejudiced/ 

" I was not informed of what happened between the King and 
Queen that day," continued Mademoiselle Bertin, " but when 
leaving her illustrious consort, the Queen told me that nothing 
had been changed in the arrangements, excepting the colour of 
the travelling-dresses, since it was generally believed in the 
King's intimate council that M. de La Fayette's warning had 
reference to a system of espionage outside of his own military 
government, and that it would be well to frustrate this. 

" During the remainder of the day, the Queen deigned to allow 
me to take part in the preparations for the journey, and I did 
not leave the Palace until the moment of Their Majesties' 

" At about half-past-ten in the evening, the Queen and I 
were engaged in packing some jewels which she wished to take 
with her, when a bedchamber-woman came to tell Her Majesty 
that a gentleman from abroad, and well-known at Court, was 
urgently asking for an audience. Her Majesty ordered that he 
should be admitted. 

" I have always refused to believe that Marie Antoinette has 
ever failed in her duty as a wife ; but if her heart was ever 
touched for one single moment, it was assuredly by Count 
Fersen. And it was the Swedish nobleman who was now ushered 
into the Queen's room. 

" I must be careful how I speak of the impression which the 
unexp>ected arrival of Count Fersen made upon Her Majesty. 
She betrayed a certain emotion ; but whatever the cause of it, 
she promptly overcame it. 

" *Is that you, monsieur le comte?' said Marie Antoinette, 
with a dignity that was almost cold. * I thought you were far 
away from France.' 


" ' I have been abroad, Madame, and I have returned only 
for the sake of Your Majesty .... 1 should say for that of Your 
Majesty and of your august spouse . . . .' 

•* ' I did not understand you to mean differently, monsieur 
le comte.' 

** • I have been kept supplied with information, Madame, and 
I learnt that the aid of my devotion might be of use to the 

King and to Your Majesty I have crossed the sea to 

offer it to you . . . .* 

*• The Queen, unable to repress a movement of gratitude, 
held out her hand to the count, who eagerly seized and 
respectfully kissed it. 

* * 1 know of the King's plans, Madame, and it is mainly to 
forward their execution that I have come.' 

" * But how could you have learnt of our plans .... abroad.' 

** * Alas I God grant that the little care taken to conceal them 
may have allowed them to penetrate to none but your friends . . . ' 

** * Have you any fear that they have come to the knowledge 
of our enemies ? ' 

" * I fear so, Madame, but I am not certain, and I hope at 
least that it will be possible to escape their vigilance, if the 
King will deign to rely upon me first to assist Your Majesties 
to leave Paris, and then for the management of the journey. 
It is necessary that no one should be able to follow your carriage 
for two hours together with«^ut losing trace of it ; that it should 
be seen now on the road to England, now on the road to 
Germany, thanks to the cross-roads that join the two until the 
frontier is reached. If the King will deign to accept me as his 
coachman, I will pledge my life to lead you without accident to 
the end of your journey . . . . ' 

" * I will tell him of your offer, monsieur le comte ; in any 
case. His Majesty will appreciate your devotion to our persons 
and our cause. . . . ' 

"'Ah, let me implore you, Madame, to tell the King that 
all my blood is at his service. . . . ' 

" * I shall not fail to do so. Count Fersen. ... But leave me 
now : if our jailers were to see you, you might run serious danger. * 

" * I can face any danger to serve you, Madame, but nothing 
would console me if I lost the occasion. . . . ' 


** With these words the Swedish officer withdrew through the 
private entrance. The Queen, in taking leave of him, said, in 
a voice that seemed to me changed : 

" Till to-morrow, Count Fersen. ... * And then she added, 
dropping her voice still lower, * We leave at midnight.' 

" The next day, " continued Mademoiselle Bertin, * the Queen 
took the arm of a Garde du Corps to leave the Palace. This 
soldier, doubtless preoccupied by the fear of danger, or by the 
pride which he took in his temporary mission, left the court- 
yard through the wicket leading on to the quay, while the 
carriages stood waiting on the Carrousel, at the end of the 
Rue Saint-Nicaise. Marie Antoinette, herself greatly preoc- 
cupied by the dangers with which she was surrounded, did not 
notice that her escort was leading her across the Pont Royal, 
and it was not until they were close to the Rue du Bac that 
Her Majesty suspected, rather from the length of the road they 
had traversed than from the aspect of the street, which was 
quite unknown to her, that they must have mistaken their 

" * Monsieur ! ' said the Queen, stopping short, * where are 
you leading me to ? We are not in the Carrousel. ' 

" * I had just perceived my mistake, ' replied the soldier, quite 
at his ease ; * but the night is dark, and I do not know the 
town well. ... * 

" * It is no great misfortune ; only let us hasten back. I fear 
we have kept the King waiting, and if he knows that I left 
the Palace at the same time as himself, he must be exceedingly 

" The Queen and the Garde du Corps recrossed the Pont Royal, 
almost at a run, passed through the second wicket, instead of 
returning through the first, and began to cross the Carrousel 
diagonally in order more quickly to reach the Rue Saint-Nicaise. 
Near the centre of the square a group of officers passed by 
the Queen; one of them, whom Her Majesty recognized as 
M. de La Fayette, almost touched her with his elbow, and 
turned round a little. None of the officers seemed to recognize 
the illustrious fugitive. 

"At last Marie Antoinette and her escort reached the car- 
riages. The King had been waiting for more than a quarter 


of an hour, a prey to inexpressible anxiety. Count Fersen was 
there, disguised as a coachman ; and as he was preparing to 
mount the box, the King said to him, in firm, sharp tones : 

" ' Remember what I have said, monsieur : only as far as 
the barrier. You will leave us there. . . . Your life now belongs 
to His Majesty Gustavus III. ; you have no right to risk it in 
the service of another sovereign.' 

"'Sire,' replied M. de Fersen, in a choking voice, *I will obey 
Your Majesty.' 

"The Queen said nothing. I am inclined to think that she 
feared that Louis XVI. might have some other motive than 
that alleged by him for repelling the count's devotion. . . . Her 
silence was dictated by a feeling of propriety. At last, all the 
Royal Family having taken their places in the big berlin, while 
the Queen's ladies stepped into the second chariot, the carriages 
moved off, and I was seized with a fit of trembling at the shock 
which those heavy coaches gave to the pavement. . . . For I 
was standing ten steps away from the illustrious fugitives at the 
moment of this nocturnal departure : the Queen had granted 
me permission to follow her at a short distance from the 
moment when she left the Chateau imtil the departure of the 
horses. Twenty times, while the Garde du Corps was leading the 
Queen towards the Rue du Bac, was I on the point of running 
after her and saying, * Madame, you are not going the right 
way.' But not only was I certain that Her Majesty could rely 
upon the soldier's fidelity, but I feared to frighten my Sovereign 
by running forward so suddenly. . . . Imagine my alarm, Leonard, 
when in the middle of the Carrousel I saw General de La Fayette 
almost touching the Queen with his elbow. ... I thought Their 
Majesties were lost ; my thoughts were full of the idea of trea- 
chery, and I exclaimed aloud, *The perfidious man!' But at 
the same moment that the words came from my lips. La Fayette 
and his officers turned aside, as though to show that they did 
not wish to hinder Marie Antoinette. At the distance at which 
I stood, it was quite clear to me that this was the general's 
intention. ... I felt convinced that he had been informed of 
the King's flight, and had decided to allow it to take place. 

" While the Royal Family were stepping into the carriage, I was 
at six paces from them, hidden behind a comer of the hoarding 

VOL. II. 5 


which closes off the Carrousel on that side. I could distinctly 
hear every word spoken at that solemn moment, and I did not 
go away until the dull rumbling sound of the two carriages had 
died away in the distance. My servant was waiting for me in 
the Rue de TEchelle ; I joined him, and returned home at about 
one o'clock in the morning. You can readily believe, my dear 
Leonard, that my repose that night was neither calm nor pro- 
longed ; and what you have just told me of the Marquis de 
Bouille's apprehensions does not contribute to reassure me." 


I endeavour to excnse If. de Bouill^ to the Queen— Her Majesty's sinister 
forebodings — Marie Antoinette and Bamave — The maladroit friends of the 
Court — Tne sublime devotion of the Princesse de Lamballe — The horrible news 
of her assassination — ^The principal reason for my departure for England — Maria 
Theresa's diamonds. 

All the world knows how the Royal Family were stopped at 
Varexmes and brought back to the Tuileries. ... As soon as I 
heard of this melancholy return, although it in no way surprised 
me, after the inexpressible imprudence with which the departure 
had been prepared and effected, I hastened to the Palace. 
Mademoiselle Bertin was there before me, and I found her in 
the Queen's room. 

" Well, Leonard," said Her Majesty, " I have come back. In 
spite of all your zeal, M. de Bouill^ could not find the means 
to have us escorted in time ; and what is so difficult to believe, 
he was not able to deliver us when we were arrested, although 
there was only a handful of peasants around us. . . . They were 
valiant hands in which you placed the baton of a Marshal of 

" I would only venture to make one observation to Your Majesty. 
The departure was delayed by twenty-four hours; the officer 
in command of the troops which were to advance into France 
may have thought that the King had changed his intentions; 
and the corps, marching without instructions from the Minister 
of War, could not penetrate into the heart of the Kingdom 
without compromising Your Majesties. . . . For in this circmn- 
stance it would have been too dangerous to urge an order 
received direct from the King. ..." 

"True," said Marie Antoinette, bitterly, "an order from the 
Sovereign is not sufficient, now that France has twelve hundred 
kings. . . . Besides," added the Queen, sadly, " our destinies are 



written on High, and I truly believe that God sometimes sends 

US mysterious warnings in our sleep I dreamt of you last 

night, my dear Rose," turning towards Mademoiselle Berlin. 
"You were bringing me ribbons of all colours, and I choso 
several. But as soon as I had taken them in my hands, they 
turned black, and I threw them back into your boxes in horror. 
I took up others: green, white, and lilac, and no sooner did I 
hold them, than they became covered with the colour of death. 
I was weaker in that dream than I am ordinarily: I began to 
weep, and you wept also, for you loved me in my dream as 
well as you love me in reality." 

"That dream is not surprising after the disagreeable event 
which we all deplore," replied Mademoiselle Bertin; "but please 
God, it contained nothing that is real except my respectful 
attachment for Your Majesty. , . ." 

"You are wrong. Rose," said the Queen, turning her head 
away slightly, "the cannibals of the 5th and 6th of October will 
force their way into my apartments again. . . . they will mur- 
der me." 

"Good God! Madame, suppress that horrible thought!" ex- 
claimed Mademoiselle Bertin and I. 

" I cannot, my friends," resumed Her Majesty, slowly. " I 
try to banish those melancholy forebodings, but they return 
incessantly. ... I feel almost certain that I shall be murdered. . . . 
Oh! Heaven grant at least that the hideous tragedy may not 
take place at the feet of the King! If I was their only victim, 
and if my death could fix the Crown firmly upon my son's head, 
I would gladly shed my blood for him. . . . But I am wrong 
to trouble you thus, " said the Queen, after a short interruption; 
"let us change the •subject. I must tell you that the only result 
of our voyage, apart from the complete imprisonment which it 
has gained for us, is a very bad cold which has fiEillen to my 

lot That good Garde du Corps, whose devotion, alas ! will 

perhaps cost him dear, made me walk in the gutter of the Rue 
du Bac, and my feet were wet all through the night. ... It is 
longj I should think, since such a thing happened to a Queen 
of France " 

I here pass over a space of several months, preferring to 
interrupt the thread of my narrative rather than linger over 


a sequence of events so often related by the historians and 
memoir-writers. ... * 

I come to the early part of October 1791. At this time a 
very remarkable change, and one which she certainly wished 
to have remarked, had come over, I will not say the character, 
but rather the habits, or as some think, the policy of Marie 
Antoinette. Her Majesty seemed to have laid aside that air 
of grandeur, commonly qualified as pride, of which the Parisians 
had made so lasting a grievance. The Queen moved about 
in her apartments amongst the bourgeois militia, posted in the 
Palace as a guard of safety rather than a guard of honour; she 
talked familiarly with the officers and even the private soldiers, 
questioning them as to their families, their position, their happi- 
ness, expressing wishes for its increase, and showing a desire to 
add to these worthy men's comfort. 

These attempts at popularity dated . from the return from Va- 
rennes. There was no doubt but that it was the result of a 
deliberate system, even if it were not taken into accoimt that 
Bamave, * one of the commissaries whom the Legislative As- 
sembly had sent to bring back the Royal Family from Varennes, 
was endeavouring to reconcile the King and Queen with the 
Revolution. It has been said that this eloquent young deputy 
became enamoured of Marie Antoinette, and therefore strove to 
turn her thoughts from that Counter-Revolution, in which she was 
becoming more and more involved through an impulse which 
was unreasonably qualified as treachery. Bamave, who was a 
sincere patriot, but at the same time a sympathetic spectator of 
the dangerous position of the King and his family, tried, it is 
true, to forestall the terrible calamities which were lowering, 
like a storm, over the heads of those august persons; but I 
think that one should relegate to the region of romantic anec- 
dote the story of the tribune's love for his sovereign. The truth 
of the matter is rather as follows. 

* Pierre Joseph Marie Bamave, 1761 — 1793, one of the more attractive figures 
on the revolutionary side. He and P6tion returned from Varennes in the 
Royal carriage, and it was from the time of that journey that his conversion 
dated. He became Mayor of Grenoble, his birth-place, and was there arrested 
on the 19th of August 1792, after the discovery of his correspondence with 
the Court. He spent 15 months in prison at Grenoble, and was then taken to 
Paris and guillotined. His defence during his trial was a very remarkable piece 
of eloquence. 


Bamave was not long in discovering that the ancien r^ginu 
was so Meep-rooted in the affections and habits of the King, 
and still more of the Queen, that it would not be possible to 
induce them to entertain for a moment the thought of any other 
system of government He lost all hope, therefore, and confined 
his efforts to saving them from destruction, while striving to avoid 
any loss of his own popularity in the Assembly. But if the 
deputy for Grenoble despaired of bringing roimd Louis XVI. and 
Marie Antoinette to the theory of constitutional government, the 
Queen, with greater confidence in her powers of pecsuasion, 
hoped to enrol him under the banner of the Counter-Revolution. 
This was perhaps the first time that Her Majesty had made any 
display of political coquetry; and its partial success ended by 
leading Bamave to the scaffold by a road in which he saw, and 
refused to avoid, the pitfalls. He was compromised before being 
entirely conquered by the Counter-Revolution, and retired to the 
country, but too late: his name was inscribed on Robespierre's 
bloody list .... His noble heart beat with too much energy to 
be spared by the man who was the enemy of intelligence rather 
than of rank. 

In Bamave, Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette lost the member 
of the Assembly who best understood their interest The elo- 
quence of the Cazal^ * and Chapelliers did them more harm 
than that of their most determined antagonists; but this both 
the King and Queen refused to see. Yet nothing was more 
dearly proved. The orations of the Royalist deputies all went 
to show that the executive power was not a duty of the govern- 
ment, but a party lying perpetually armed, as it were, in ambush, 
ready to dart out upon the Constitution which it had sworn to 
carry out and to defend .... The great misfortune of the un- 
happy Royal Pair was that, with but few exceptions, they had 
none but friends who were either wrong-headed, or stupid, or 
lacking either in energy or in prudence. Among those partisans 
of the Throne who were not able to act as its defenders, there 

*Jacqucs Antoino Marie de Cazal^s, 1752 — 1805, one of the deputies of tiie 
nobility, was a celebrated and verv fine orator on the Royalist side. He fought 
a bloodless duel with Bamave in 1790, before the latter's conversion. After 
the Varenncs catastrophe, CazaK's left France, and joined the French Princes, 
under whom he foug^ht throughout the campaign of 1792. He returned in 1803 
two years before his death. His speeches and opinions were collected, in one 
volume, in 1821. 


were doubtless many heroes of devotion and fidelity ; but there 
were scarcely any who were really gifted: and in a revolution, 
where all the strength is in the hands of the masses, talent is 
the only quality that stands a chance of succeeding against 

On the other hand, the less devotion is distinguished by 
personal talent, the more remarkable do we find it for greatness 
of mind and true heroism. I have already told how Madame 
la Princesse de Lamballe, shortly after the removal of the Court 
to the Tuileries, had gone abroad to seek alliances against the 
revolutionary movement .... Alas ! Louis XVI. could not have 
employed an ambassadress less likely to succeed in her mission. 
The Princess, with all the virtues which cause us to esteem her 
sex, had none of the qualities that constitute its power. No 
doubt she was very beautiful; but her beauty was not one that 
permitted its admirers to pay any homage but that of the eyes, 
and that distant worship is not sufficient to enable ladies to 
triumph over the obstacles which encumber their path. 

Marie Thei^se Louise de Carignan was in England in the 
month of September 1791, and followed in the French news- 
papers the sad falling-off in the power of Louis XVI. She saw 
how danger was crowding around the Royal Family, and finally, 
reproaching herself for having left them, resolved to return to 
France, whatever the danger to which she might be exposing 
herself. . . . 

One evening in October, a cold, wet evening, I went to the 
Tuileries to report to the Queen upon an errand she had con- 
fided to me the day before. Her Majesty was doing needle- 
work in a small drawing-room on the ground-floor, with Madame 
Campan by her side. The King was sitting before a scanty 
fire, with the young Dauphin on his knees, whom he was 
instructing in elementary geography. One might have thought 
them some good Breton family, living peacefully in their old castle, 
and spending the winter evening in domestic quietude. The 
rain beat violently against the window-panes on the garden side, 
the servants having neglected to close the shutters ; and the wet 
wind whistled through the branches of the great chestnut-trees, 
which were already bare of leaves. 

According to the custom which the Queen had permitted me 


to adopt, I entered without being announced by the officers on 
duty, after gently scratching at the door. Though Marie Antoi- 
nette had always refused to embrace constitutional principles, 
assuredly no sovereign was ever so easy of access or so affable 
as she became towards the closing years of her life .... Often, 
when I had been long distances on foot for Her Majesty, she 
made me sit down in her presence in order to tell her of the result 
of my excursion. "The etiquette of Versailles was left behind 
us when we quitted that Palace," she would say, with a laugh, 
"and the wife of the 'Nation's head-clerk,' as a Patriot orator 
recently remarked, should find a seat for all the world in her 

I told the Queen that a travelling-carriage had drawn up 
before the Pavilion de THorloge as I entered the Palace. 

"A travelling-carriage!" cried Marie Antoinette, in surprise. 
" I can't think who it can be." 

"Some distinguished emigrant," said Louis XVI., "some gen- 
tleman of my former Court, profiting by the amnesty pronounced 
by the Assembly at La Fayette's desire, and returning to France 
to devote himself to pur service." 

**0r to avoid the confiscation of his property," added the 
Queen, with a caustic smile. 

At that moment the door opened, and there appeared to our 
eyes Madame la Princesse de Lamballe. 

One of the undying remembrances of my life will be the 
picture which I have preserved of that unexpected apparition. 
I shall always see before me the sweet, noble face, pale with 
the fatigue of the journey, but lit up with an expression of the 

tenderest attachment A hundred times have I seen again in 

my dreams Madame de Lamballe as she appeared to us then, 
wearing a bewitching English beaver hat, turned up at the side 
with black silk cording, and with three black feathers nodding 
above it. With this hat, which admirably threw up her com- 
plexion. Her Highness wore a little wadded coat, fastened in front 
with bows of ribbon, which, in spite of the thickness of its lining, 

failed to spoil the elegant outline of the Princess's figure 

I left for England soon after, and I never set eyes on Madame 
de Lamballe again. But the charming portrait which I have 
just drawn has always been accompanied in my thoughts by 


another recollection. One morning in 1792, I was strolling 
slowly down Piccadilly, in London, when I saw a crowd pressing 
round a print-seller*s window. I drew nearer, and I saw a 
gruesome pictiu^e representing a woman's head carried upon a 
pike. Beneath it was written, "Murder of the Princess of 
Lamballe." Since then I have never ceased to have these two 
effigies of the Princess before my eyes: one gentle, smiling, 
topped with that rakish little hat; the other dishevelled, with 
writhing features, the eyes starting from the head, and the face 
dripping with blood A hideous comparison 

I have mentioned too early my departure for abroad. Let 
me return to the events which necessitated it, and the circum- 
stances by which it was preceded. Towards the close of the 
year 1791, when the Palace of the Tuileries had become nothing 
better than a prison to the Royal Family, the Queen one evening 
sent for me, and after dilating, with some vehemence, upon the 
terrible situation in which she and the King were placed, ended 
by informing me, with tears, that the result of this extremity to 
which they were reduced was a state of imperious and pressing 
need, which Their Majesties were unable to provide for. 

" You will be convinced of the truth of what I say, my dear 
Leonard, when I tell you that I am obliged to sell part of my 
own diamonds in order to meet our expenses." 

** My heart bleeds for Your Majesty," I exclaimed, in a voice 
broken by sobs. 

** My poor Leonard, your zeal and devotion have never failed 
us. I expect a new and striking proof of this from you to-day ; 
for I have something to ask you which will perhaps vex you." 

" Nothing could vex me, Madame, which Your Majesty thinks 
right to command me." 

The Queen took from her secretaire a casket of green sha- 
green leather, and handed it to me open. 

"These diamonds," continued Her Majesty, "have never 
cost France a penny. They are the stones I brought with me 
from Vienna in 1770, and nobody has the right to prevent me 
from making what use of them I please. Take them to Eng- 
land, Leonard. In London you will easily find a jeweller who 
will purchase this casket from you. I rely entirely upon your 
intelligence for your management of this business, and upon your 


iategrity for the account that you will render me When 

you have sold them, pay the proceeds to the London repre- 
sentative of Vandenyver, who will see that they are remitted 
to their proper destination. When this is done, await my in- 
structions in London; they shall be sent you without delay. 
It is essential that you should start speedily : the Assembly has 
withdrawn its decree as to passports, but this formality may soon 
be re-established, and then your voyage could not take place . . . 
and this would distress me greatly, for I am entirely dependent 
upon its result." 

** Madame," I replied, eagerly, ** I shall soon have made my 
arrangements for departure: if Your Majesty will only give me 
four and twenty hours." 

"That is well, Leonard: I expected no less from your devo- 
tion. Such zeal, such perseverance displayed in our service 
shall not go unrewarded . . . ." 

" Ah ! Madame, the best reward Your Majesty can extend 
to me is to believe that I am sufficiently rewarded by the con- 
fidence which you place in me." 

"Go, then; the day will come, I hope, when we shall be 
Sovereigns once more, to the advantage of our friends and the 
confusion of our enemies." 

I left the palace at ten o'clock in the evening, and without 
waiting for the morrow, commenced making my preparations 
for departure. 


My arrival in London — The Golden Caonon — English soup — Fricassee of 
chicken — Madame T. . • . — The artificial flower-makers and uie priests — The 
Chevali^re d'£on in London— I meet Julie, the fairy of the Th^&tre Nicolet. 

At the close of 1791, I had given up my profession for more than 
twelve months. The titled beauties were emigrating by the hundred ; 
the mansions in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, the Faubourg 
Saint-Honore and the lie Saint-Louis were deserted ; grass grew 
between the paving-stones of their court-yards .... My young 
pupils, the lady's maids, had become citizenesses ; the valets-de- 
chambre whom I had taught the use of the comb changed it 
for the sword of Latour*s Dragoons or Wurmser's Hussars : * 
whence we may draw the conclusion that the former had turned 
** Patriot,** while the latter had preferred to continue aristocrat- 
ically-disposed and to emigrate with their masters. And indeed 
it was a matter for congratulation that the army beyond the 
Rhine was reinforced by arrivals of valets, wig-makers, hackney- 
coachmen and footmen ; for without this levy of plebeian 
recruits, the so-called Royal army would have contained none 
but colonels and generals. 

I was able therefore to shut up my house without any fear 
of injuring the progress of the art of hair-dressing, an art, alas ! 
ruined for many a long year. Political exaltation drove men 
to affect long beards and greasy hair. True, I felt some regret 

• There are so many Latour familes (La Tour du Pin-Gouvem^t, La Tour du 
Pin-Montauban, La Tour d'Auvergne, Latour-Maubourg, &c.) that it is dangerous 
to hazard a guess at the owner of this regiment of Latour's Dxngoons. The 
probability is that it was commanded by Marie Victor Fay. Marquis de Latour- 
Maubourg, 1756 — 1850, who subsequently fought under Napoleon, and was for 
two years Minister for Wslt under Louis XVIII. Wurmser, of course, was the 
brave Austrian general, Dagobert Sigismond Count von Wurmser, 1724 — 1797, 
who gained a certain number of successes against the revolutionary troops in 
1793. But he was eventually badly beaten by Buonaparte, to whom he capitu- 
lated at Mantua on the 2nd of February 1797. He died shortly afterwards, 
while Commander of the Forces in Hungary. 



for that town of Paris, which had always proved so gentle, so 
caressing to me ; and I regretted still more my little Lucette, 
of whom I have told you, and with whom I was now fervently 
in love (how much more foolish is folly, the older the head it 

affects !) I felt strongly inclined to take the adorable 

actress with me ; but apart from the necessity of acting with 
mystery in the foreign missions which might be confided to me 
by the Court of the Tuileries, whose secrets I was not en- 
titled to communicate to my mistress, a woman in the midst 
of armies is always a very compromised article of luggage. 
And so I left Lucette behind, reserving the right to send for 
her later. 

After collecting all the capital which I was able to realize, I 
purchased letters of credit for ten thousand louis on London 
and Amsterdam. The Queen's diamonds, which might be 
worth some 350,000 livres, I divided and carefully concealed 
among my luggage. I set out on the 27th of December 1791, 
leaving my brother Vilanot* to administer such fortune as I 
possessed in goods and real estate; but he was destined soon 
to be relieved from this care by the confiscation of the property 
of all those who were either emigrants or regarded as such. 

I arrived in London on the 30th of December, and alighted 
at the Golden Cannon in Piccadilly, an inn which was at that 
time considered the best in London, at least among the French 
visitors. I was told that I should there find the Parisian cuisine 
in all its perfection. But the trial which I made that same night 
of the so-called French cookery did not tend to confirm that 
statement. I asked for some thick soup, and was served with 
a decoction of aa alarming paleness, in which swam three great 
slices of half-cooked beef, which I left untasted. I hoped to 
discover more genuine proofs of the inspiration of our cordons 
bleus in a fricassee of chicken d la frangaise^ at it was described 
in the bill of fare. They brought me this would-be fricassee, 
and it consisted of a few bits of fowl stewed in water and served 
dry. I enquired for the sauce; they pointed to a glass bottle, 

* Vilanot was one of Leonard's two brothers. Their surname was Autier, 
but they were always known, and always signed their names, as Leonard and 
Vilanot. After Leonard's departure for abroad, Vilanot undertook the charge 
of Marie Antoinette's toilette ; and his career was brought to an abrupt and 
unpleasant termination by the guillotine in 1793. 


which the waiter had just placed on the table. ... I poured a 
few drops of bottled seasoning on my plate, and I was well- 
advised to take it distrustfully, for no highway robber of the 
Forest of Bondy * ever took unoffending traveller by the throat 
more violently than did this fatal sauce. ... I swallowed the 
remainder of the fragments of chicken, that had been brought 
me with plain salt, and pretended to have supped, after washing 
down my insipid repast with three glasses of so-called port, 
which burnt my gullet, so strongly did the alcohol overpower 
the natural quality of the wine. . . . 

**0 industrious and learned British nation! how badly you 
feed and lodge your neighbours ! " I exclaimed, as I stretched 
myself upon a bed which did no more credit to the art of the 
upholster er than did the fricassee of chicken to the art of the 

kitchen Nevertheless I slept, as I had supped, through 

force of necessity. But the next morning, on awaking, I said 
to myself, "I must look for a French lodging-house.*' 

This idea of personal comfort was not, however, what guided 
my first steps in London : I first thought of how to execute the 
Queen's orders. Her Majesty had explained to me the needs 
which were to be provided for by the sale of the diamonds, 
and nothing seemed to me more urgent than that I should cause 
to be remitted to France the proceeds of this sale. But I did 
not know one word of English, and the French language was 
far from being as widely spoken in London as has since become 
the case. The emigration could not but have brought to London 
a number of people whom I had known in France; but how 
to find them ? My old partner Fremont was dead. 

Suddenly I remembered that the former Court purveyor of 
feathers and flowers, who had recently closed her Paris ware- 
house in order to follow a large number of her illustrious 
debtors abroad, was carrying on in London her Paris industry, 
to which this lady, who possessed great commercial activity 
and intelligence, had added a trade in all the articles which have 
to do with women's toilet. 

I asked for Madame T.'s address; she was well-known, 
and the first person of whom I enquired showed me her 

* Seven miles from Paris, and long infected with thieves. As who should say 
Hounslow Heath. 


door, which was in Piccadilly, at thirty paces from the Golden 

Madame T. had the use of a whole house. Her show-rooms 
were on the ground- and first-floors ; tlie work-rooms of the 
flower- and feather-makers were on the second ; and on the 
third, which in London is called the " garret, " * slept the whole 
colony of pretty work-girls whom Madame T. had brought with 
her from France. I could write a fine novel, or rather a fine 
series of novels, if I cared to set down the adventures of these 
young emigrants from the Rue Saint-Denis. Among them there 
was more than one beauty formerly celebrated at the Opera, 
whose fortime had sunk lower and lower until she came to 
seek refuge on a humble truckle-bed in a garret in Piccadilly; 
but on the other hand, the self-same garret was also the start- 
ing-point of many a dark-eyed, slender-waisted, slim-footed 
destiny, which led, by easy windfalls, to a brilliant mansion in 
one of the squares. . . . 

I was heartily welcomed by Madame T. Our business rela- 
tions at Paris had covered a period of not less than eighteen 
or nineteen years, and had led to good profits for both of us. 
Whenever a lady of the Court conceived a whim sufficiently 
extravagant to open out to me a profit of two hundred per 
cent, I would excite her, stir her up with all my might, and 
promise to content her caprice before it had had time to 
evaporate. Then I would go to Madame T., and say : 

** Good news : there is an * impossible' order for us to-day." 

** I will send it you two hours before the time fixed, ** replied 
the energetic business- woman. 

And we would divide between us the two hundred per cent 
profit, while keeping up our reputation as the fairies of the 
toilet. . . . 

** You in London ! " cried Madame T., whom I found in one 
of her show-rooms, surrounded by a circle of French priests, a 
somewhat singular company, I thought, for a dealer in artifi- 
cial feathers and flowers. . . . She penetrated through her black 
entourage, and coming towards me, whispered : 

** This must seem very strange to you ; and yet these good 
ecclesiastics are clients who come to me every day from France. 

• Les garettes. 


Every packet brings me two or three of them. Truly, I do 
not know how I have come by these customers ; but they have 
adopted me, in much the same fashion as the locksmiths' or 
farriers ' mat^ adopt the good old woman whom they call 
their mother at the sign of the Grand Saint-Eloi, * Sometimes 
also I receive visits from very titled people, as destitute of 
money and even shirts as they are rich in quarterings. The 
women of quality whom I used to supply at the French Court 
are lavish with introductions of gentlemen in whom they are 
interested : that is their way of paying the interest on the money 
they owe me. These payments on account have not saved me 
from having already had to disburse a considerable number of 
guineas stamped with the features of His Gracious Majesty 
King George III, independently of the hospitality in kind which 
I extend to the good priests over yonder. " 

"What, my dear lady," I exclaimed, in surprise, **do you 
harbour at your own expense all those pious veterans of the 
priesthood ?** 

"What am I tp do, my dear Leonard? A fair wind from 
Normandy brings them to England with no hope save an 
unpledged conscience, no resource save my address, no capacity 
for work save the gout or chronic catarrh. How can I close 
my door to them, when I know that no other will be opened 
for them? And so I said to my young ladies, 'You must pack 
yourselves more closely in your rooms, sleep two in a bed, and 
make over half of your garrets to these men of God.* You 
can imagine that the dangers arising from this proximity are 
not great. The youngest among them is seventy; and by the 
height of good fortune, they are all deaf, which prevents their 
hearing any indecent remarks or proposals which might emanate 
from the rooms occupied by those young ladies. But let us 
speak of yourself: what good errand brings you to London?" 

**I am here, dear Madame T., in as awkward and helpless, 
but not as poverty-stricken a position as your worthy Norman 
priests. Nevertheless I am commissioned by the Queen with 
the conduct of an important business," and I told her of it. 

"Poor Queen!" said the good Frenchwoman, turning up her 
eyes. "To be reduced to such a strait! I can think of none 

*St. Eligius, the patron of smiths. His feast falls on the ist of December. 


but the jeweller William (as we will call him) who can do 
your business. My eldest son will take you to him whenever 
you please, and act as interpreter while you conclude your 
bargain. " 

"I accept your offer gratefully, and if M. T. is not too busy 
to-morrow morning, I will come and beg him to take me to 
William's . . . ." 

** Busy ! What do you think, Leonard, is my son's most 
serious business at present ? He is taking lessons in fencing with 
a lady.** 

" AUegorically speaking." 

" Not at all, I am speaking literally : my son has become the 
pupil of a lady in the use of the foils.** 

** Ah ! egad, I have it : you are speaking of the Chevaliire 

" Precisely." 

" And so that androgynous person, who has kept the world 
talking so long, is now in London ?" 

*• Yes, only unfortunately for her or him, the world speaks of 
her no longer; whence comes that the poor chevaliere, aban- 
doned not only by the public but by the powers that be, is 
compelled to live as the rats do, by nibbling at her library .... 
The folios are already eaten up, there are no quartos left, and 
the octavos are commencing to follow the rest." 

** And this after playing so great a part on the political stage!" 

''She was playing a less dignified one recently on the stage 
of the London opera-house . . . . " 

"But surely not a singing-part; Mademoiselle d'Eon is blessed 
with the least harmonious voice that ever grated through a 
human gullet." 

** No, it was in the quality of a viriuosa in the art of arms 
that Mademoiselle d'Eon appeared at the Opera, in an assault 

with M. Sainville Pitiful to think of a descendant of the 

illustrious family of Clermont-Tonnerre rigged out in the costume 
of Joan of Arc, and fencing upon the boards for fifty guineas, 
after having had access to every diplomatic cabinet in Europe. 
To return to your commission, my son will be happy to go to 
William's with you to-morrow, as he will tell you himself at 
dinner; for you will stay to dinner...." 


*• With pleasure, madame . . . . " 

•• Meanwhile I will have you shown round my work-rooms . . . 
and I will ask your leave to return to those gentlemen. *' And 
Madame T. nodded towards the good priests, who had discreetly 
retired to one of the windows during our conversation. 

A cutter came down in answer to Madame T.*s bell. She 
told him to show me round, and I followed him to the second 

I had never in Paris seen so active a flower-manufactory. 

"They think," said the cutter, who seemed an intelligent 
youth, " that we only make bouquets and garlands here. If the 
English ladies knew that we made all the different sorts of flow- 
ers ourselves, they would cease to buy them .... To listen 
to them, one would think that the climate of the British Isles 
was as unfavourable to the production of artificial pinks and 

roses as to the growth of these flowers in their natural state 

But it is so easy to deceive titled credulity in this country! 
Our goods are in just the same case as the wines of Tokay or 
the Hermitage, of which a hundred times more is sold in Europe 
than the vintage produces: we sell some hundred thousand 
francs* worth .... We even invent families and species to stim- 
ulate the caprices of the English: nothing is so prolific as our 
flora of cambric or muslin .... And the charming English- 
women cr\' out in amazement at the endless resources of c reation ! 
See, " continued my guide, " I will show you the providence to 
whom all this praise is due .... It does, in fact, create with 
great facility ; but, " added the young man, with a sigh, " I am 
paid to realize that it does not so easily re-create what is wasted. " 

I watched the cutter attentively while he was uttering these 
last words. His way of expressing himself was not that of a 
man brought up in a flower-maker's workshop, and his distin- 
guished appearance confirmed me in the opinion that he had 
suffered the shipwreck of his fortunes through some gust of the 
wind of adversity. 

Meantime, my guide led me to a small, and almost elegantly 
furnished room, in which the forewoman was seated at work. 
Her head was bent over her work-table as I approached, and 
she did not seem to perceive me. 

•Mademoiselle Julie," said the cutter, "look up; here is M. 

VOL. n. 6 


Leonard, who has done us the honour to visit our work-rooms." 

" Leonard ! " exclaimed the workwoman. 

"Julie!" cried L 

The work-table was thrown over, and Madame T.'s forewoman 
was in my arms, pressing me to her heart, while my guide 
watched us with the strangest expression of bewilderment on 

his face What more shall I tell you ? I had met again 

at the end of 1791, in London, my mistress of 1769 the 

fairy of the Th6&tre Nicolet .... the head upon which I had 
laid the foundation-stone of my fortune. 


Julie's Story. 

**Yes, Monsieur Leonard, it is I," said the flower-maker, over- 
come with emotion, keeping my two hands captive in hers ; " it 
is the pretty little Julie of the Theatre Nicolet, only with twenty- 
two years added to her age.*' 

" Which do not prevent me," I gaily interrupted, ** from still 
seeing before me the beautiful Julie." 

"Beautiful, if you will," she replied, vivaciously. "You meet 
here and there with monuments which are beautiful through 
their very age. But at forty, a woman who has had food for 
reflections, knows exactly what to think of her charms and of 
their power. 

" My work for the day is done," continued Julie, laying down 
her nippers on the work-table. "There are still three hours 
before dinner-time. Sit down on that ricketty chair. Monsieur 
Leonard, and I will tell you the story of my life. It is a curious 
story, and I assure you it would make a very pretty novel, 
without altering the truth in the slightest, or in any way em- 
broidering the facts of which it has pleased God to compose it. 
You know that, my dear Stanislas," said Julie, addressing the 
cutter : " you might even say of it, * Et quorum pars magna fui, ' 
You look surprised, Monsieur Leonard; but you must know 
that there have been long years in my life during which I had 
nothing better to do than to study Latin. . . . What a strange 
destiny, was it not, for a boulevard dancer. . . . yet nothing is 
more true: Sic fata voluere. . , ,^* Then, turning once more to 
him whom she had called Stanislas, a curiously feudal name 
for a cutter, she said to him, "Please see that Lady Spencer's * 

* Spenser in the original. 



wreath is finished: she is an old friend, and I promised that 
she should have it punctually." 

"Lady Spencer an old friend of Julie the dancer," said I to 
myself, while the forewoman was giving Stanislas her instruc- 
tions. ** By what chain of adventure can such a friendship have 
been formed? Lady Spencer is that charming Englishwoman 
whose arrival in France created a sensation some years ago, 
whose wealthy display turned fifty of our great ladies green with 
envy, and who had twenty of the most exalted noblemen of 
the Court madly and hopelessly in love with her. . . . Yes, Julie's 
story should be decidedly entertaining: I long to hear it." 

Julie rose to give some orders in the work-rooms, and returned 
and sat down by my side. We were alone, and she commenced 
her narrative somewhat in these words: 

** Blinded by the smoke of the incense which Paris burnt 
before the god of hair-dressing in the year of grace 1771, you 
lost sight of your little Julie, towards whom you had, with the 
assistance of a certain marchi(3ness, been most unfaithful, a crime 
which Julie, for that matter, had repaid you with interest It 
may therefore have escaped your attention that next year I 
joined the Opera, where, thanks to the fairy reputation which 
you had made for me, and which I managed to sijstain pretty 
well, I obtained some success. But I was only' able to play 
the DanaiS through an occasional stroke of good luck, and I 
captured but a casual few of the men. There were then at the 
Opera, Guimard, Duthe, Dervieu, Sophie Amould, who resem- 
bled the leading advocates at the bar: it was they who obtained 
all the great cases in the court of Cythera, leaving us lesser 
lights only a comparatively insignificant practice. 

" Nevertheless, I seemed to perceive one evening that a glass, 
directed from the balcony to the stage, followed all the move- 
ments which I made in unison with the rest of the corps di 
ballety from which I had not yet emerged, for want of a suffi- 
ciently powerful protector. Two days after, I observed the same 
tactics, the same determination on the part of the man with 
the opera-glass to follow me through the involved medley of 
the dancers. I attached to this circumstance all the importance 
which any lady of the Opera, who has yet to make her way, 


attaches to the search of a protector. I took advantage of a 
moment's rest to slip behind my companions, and from the 
front of the wings on the left-hand side of the audience, I saw, 
as clearly as the shimmer of the foot-lights enabled me, that 
my admirer was a man of some forty years of age, with square- 
cut features, and a serious and pensive air. There was not 
much love displayed on that face; but as I perceived, from the 
seven or eight crosses which hung beneath that essentially Teutonic 
head, that I had fixed the attention of some baron of the Holy 
Roman Empire, I prepared myself beforehand to accept his 
passion for what it was worth ; no woman need ever be at a 
loss for the appendices of love, whatever part of the world she 
dwell in. 

** While I was endeavouring to catch a thought upon my admirer's 
impassive physiognomy, he spied me standing as near to him 
as it is possible for an actor to be to the spectators in the 
balcony. What you had been pleased to call my beauty eight 
or ten months earlier became more clearly visible to his eyes, and 
I saw something like a flame light up in them. * Even a Saxon 
or a Prussian is capable of being excited,' said I to myself. 

** So long as I remained in the front of the stage, the opera- 
glass never left me; but when I saw that my admirer had had 
an opportunity to note my features and the shape of my figure 
in full detail, I returned to the body of the ballet; a retreat 
which was full of coquetry and very well adapted to the situa- 
tion, as Monsieur Leonard, with his vast and cultured obser- 
vation, will no doubt agree. 

**The bait had been swallowed: I could see that from the 
spark which had gleamed for an instant in my Teutonic admi- 
rer's glance. I looked upon a message of some sort from him 
the next day as certain. You know that at that time the box- 
openers, the dressers, the call-boys, wig-makers, lamp-lighters and 
firemen, in one word every underling in the service of the 
Opera, knew the addresses of the ladies of the * shop, ' as it 
was called. It formed part of their secret duties to give these 
addresses to those who asked for them, and most of them were 
able to weave upon demand a pretty biographical notice 
expurgata (don't forget that I have learnt Latin), which painted 
the dancer or singer enquired after in the best light. 


** The next day there called upon me in the Rue Croix-des- 
Petits-Champs a clumsy German valet, to whom his master had 
tried to give the app>earance of a French chasseur; but his 
Teutonic awkwardness was revealed by the fact that his foot 
slipped as he entered my room, with this result, that coming 
before his master to fall at my feet, he fell upon his behind. He 
rose grumbling under his breath at the perfidious art of our 
parquet-polishers, and handed me a letter as large as a diplo- 
matic message, with a seal which could not have been less than 
three inches in diameter. 

*" The emissary of my ogler at the Opera told me that he was 
to wait for the reply which madame might be pleased to send 
to Monseigneur le Landgrave de Norkitten. ... At this title of 
landgrave, which pointed to nothing less than a petty sovereign, 
I felt a thrill pass through my body; and at that moment the 
stolid face in the balcony seemed to my vanity to be embellished 
with all the charms of an Adonis. 

** When I opened the letter, I saw that I should have to deci- 
pher four laige pages of writing, crammed with tortuous ger- 
manisms, and to go through a study in hieroglyphics before 
I should be able to reply to the declaration of the Landgrave 
of Norkitten. At that time I was anything but erudite, nor 
had I studied the pap>Tus scrolls, as I have since done 
in extremis. ... I had great trouble in making out the 
contents of this letter, in which my worthy German had care- 
fully described the smallest of his turrets, the narrowest of his 
battlements, and enumerated the long litany of lordships which 
he held from his ancestors. Finally I reached the conclusion, 
which seemed to me to deserve serious consideration ; for the 
Landgrave promised me the enjoyment of all the foregoing, if 
I would consent to meet his view's, which he begged leave to 
come and explain to me on the morning of the next day. 

** I sent word to the Landgrave that I would have the honour 
to receive him on the following day at twelve o*clock in the 

" M. dc Norkitten was punctual, and I will describe this inter- 
view to vou witli some detail, mv dear Monsieur Leonard, 
be<*ausc it presents some original features such as have but 
rarely been offered to a moralist's observation. The Landgrave 


was, as you have doubtless already understood, a German of 
remarkable density, who could perhaps have afforded to give 
the Prince d'Henin some of his simplicity. But he was fsx 
from accepting the physical and intellectual part which Nature, 
very parsimoniously inclined in his case, had allotted to him. 
He was the real Prussian soldier of Frederick the Great's time, * 
with his neck encased in a horse-hair stock, his chest thrown 
forward, his elbows glued to his sides, his feet set square; and 
in spite of all this, Norkitten, whose mind was constantly pre- 
senting arms like his body, was determined to ape the /^//V- 
maitre of Versailles. . . . An unfortunate pretension, which turned 
him, without his suspecting it, into the most grotesque of cari- 

"'Mademoiselle,' said he, after paying the usual compliments, 
and taking a chair which I had offered him with a politeness 
mingled with reserve, 'you see a sad rake before you. The 
Lauzuns, Lauraguais, Chartres and Lauvois have achieved my 
demoralization ; but I am tired of a life of dissipation, and I 
wish to put an end to it. . . . However I do not want to with- 
draw from the world like a Capuchin : I reject all reforms which 
look like penance. ... I propose to quit the scene of my amours, 
but to leave behind me the memory of a brilliant action, and 
I can think of nothing but an abduction which would suitably 
meet my views.' 

"You will of course understand, Monsieur Leonard," con- 
tinued Julie, "that I have translated for you into French an 
harangue of which I had to catch the import from amidst the 
most incomprehensible chaos of Germanized French or Frenchi- 
fied Prussian elocution .... But what I cannot possibly 
describe to you is the poor Landgrave's pantomime, which 
called up all his memories of the CEil-de-Boeuf or the Comedie 
Fran9aise, in order to simulate the airs of a roue of good family. 
I would have given ten louis to have had Barthe or Dorat 
hidden in my dressing-room, so that they might add to their 
stock of characters this unpublished type. Unfortunately I had 
to amuse myself privately and in secret, for beneath all this, as 
was in fact the case, there might lurk a destiny of the greatest 
interest to me. Norkitten resumed: 

* Frederick died in 1786. 



"'Mademoiselle, will you consent to be abducted?' 

" ' But Monsieur . . . .' I did not finish the sentence ; I thought 
the Landgrave would be able to interpret this reticence to meao, 
' In truth, I do not see why you need abduct me.' 

"'Forgive me for questioning you, madeoioiseUe ; but you 
have perhaps observed that I take the greatest interest in you, 
and I would venture to ask how you are situated in matters of 
the heart.' 

" I felt called upon to dissemble. 

"'Monsieur,' I replied, 'hidden, up to the present, in the 
crowd of the ballet, my heart has had no occasion to defend 
itself ' 

" ' happy day ! ' cried the worthy Landgrave, rising from 
his chair. 'I see you possess all that is necessary to make 
your abduction redound to the fame of the lucky ravisher .... 
It will be a rape which will make a noise in the world .... 
which will heroically crown my career.' 

"'But, Monsieur le Landgrave,' said I, interrupting him, and 
inspired by a scruple of conscience, 'I have no. . . .' 

" ' No fortune, you were about to say For shame ! do we 

care for that, we illustrious rakes? .... Egad! I should get a 
fine reputation if I were to run away with a wealthy dancer... 
They would say, when I was gone, that I wanted something 
to put by for a rainy day, like the lowest lawyer's clerk .... 
Tell me, have you no mother, no aunt, who might raise a hue 
and cry in the French p)apers against your abduction?... The 
Frankfort Gazette, and the Augsburg and, finally, the Berlin 
papers would reprint the article, and it would look very well in 
the eyes of His Majesty Frederick the Great, . . .' 

"'But, Monsieur, do you seriously desire to abduct me?' 

" ' Certainly, mademoiselle. . . . and I will take you to my Land- 
graviate of Norkittcn.' 

"'Let us put an end to this pleasantry. Monsieur le Comte,' 
said I, with that commanding dignity which always imposes 
upon a fool ; ' I am only a p>oor girl from the Opera, but I will 
not consent to become the plaything of a caprice which, wbea 
your whim b gratified, will leave me without resources in a 
foreign land.' 

"'You don't know what you are saying, mademoiselle: the 


CHAPTER viir 89 

plan I propose to you is no caprice, but oa the contrary it is 
the result of the most careful reflection : I have reached an age 
when one should abjure frivolous pleasures and begin to think 
of living nobly. ... I propose to elope with you to Prussia 
in order to marry you : it is the Landgravine of Norkitten whom 
I shall have the honour of presenting to His Majesty Frederick 
the Great.' 

" ' But, Monsieur le Comte, who will guarantee. . . . ' 

"'The sincerity of my intentions?' interrupted the Land- 
grave, in tones of wounded pride. ' I am a Catholic, mademoi- 
selle; on reaching the gates of Paris, I will marry you at the 
feet of a priest of your own choosing .... provided it be at 
midnight: the hour insisted on by the laws of abduction.' 

"'The man is mad,' said I to myself; 'let us make the most 
of his folly. . . . And I replied, aloud, ' Monsieur, I am too much 
honoured by your suit to reject It. . . .Julie will follow you upon 
the conditions which you yourself have laid down, ' 

"'Come to my arms. Countess of Norkitten,' cried the Land- 
grave, with a liveliness which led me to believe that his Teutonic 
phlegm did not eicclude a certain warmth of temperament. 'We 
shall set out in three days from now: I shall require that delay 
to prepare the way for the noise of our elopement; it will no 
doubt be sufficient to allow you, on your side, to arrange the 
preliminaries of our secret marriage. ' 

"'It would be an insult. Monsieur le Comte, not to leave 
that also to you. I would only wish that we might receive the 
nuptial benediction at the hands of M. le Cure de La Chapelle, 
who was once a friend of my father's.' 

" In this way I gave myself the appearance of confiding in 
him entirely, while at the same time guaranteeing myself, by my 
choice of a priest, against those counterfeit marriages of the 
novels, in which the ravisher's valet, like a sacrilegious actor, 
slips on the surplice and girds himself with the sacred stole. 

" While preparing for my departure, I did not neglect to have 
discreet, but exact, enquiries made at the Prussian L^ation 
about the Landgrave of Norkitten. Al! that he had told me 
of his condition and fortune was true; he held the rank of 
major-general in the Prussian army; and his family, as well 

I hwnMlf, filled stately pages in the records of warfare ... . I 

^^H hnnwlf, fil 


went to take leave of my friends at the Opera, telling them 
that I was to be abducted by main force in thiee days, and that 
I was consequently making my preparations beforehand. . . . 

"At last, after preparing at his leisure what he called the 
glorious rumour of my abduction, and after seeing the proofs 
of the articles which were to be inserted in the papcra on 
the day after his exploit; Norkitten came to the wings, enveloped 
in a capacious cloak, like a Venetian dravo, and carried me off, 
dressed as a nymph of Diana, amid the suppressed laughter of 
all my companions, of whom I had been taking leave during the 
last two days.... I found no explanation for the Count's folly: 
his desire to be regarded as an audacious libertine was not 
sufficient to account for the strangeness of this step. . . . But 
I realized all too soon the kind of vanity which Norkitten 
attached to this rape carried out with so much pomp and 

"The good cure married us at midnight: the venerable pastor 
cried with joy on seeing me escape from the clutches of Satan, 
to whom, as a dancer, I must needs belong, in order to live 
honourably under the laws of Hymen. My dream was a 
beautiful one till then; and when I stepped back into the 
carriage with my husband, as Landgravine of Norititten, I threw 
myself into his arms with all the grateful expansiveness of a 
woman of twenty who has not seen her lover for three days. , . , 
Alas! the moment of awakening was at hand. 

"How shall I tell you. Monsieur L^nard?" continued Julie, 
playing with the strings of her green taffeta apron, so that she 
might have the occasion to cast down her eyes. " Never was 
deception more complete 'Ah! Monsieur le Comte, ' I ex- 
claimed after an hour, overcome by the ascendant of the most 
discouraging of truths, 'you must have been a sad rake indeedr" 

At this moment a servant came to tell us that dinner was 
ready, and the fair flower-maker put off to the next day the 
remainder of her adventures. 


William the jewellei — Hu wrogant honert^— An Engliih pcculiari^ — The 
treuom of the Araiiati Nighit — Black diamomli — Gaittonoinic grace* — Engliih 
mmic— The lomance of a nigbt 

Madame T. kept her promise, and her son accompanied me, 
on the second day after my arrival in London, to the shop of 
William the jeweller, which was in the long street known as 
the Strand. Through the intermediary of my young interpreter, 
I frankly told the jeweller of the commission with which I had 
been charged by the Queen or France, and I displayed to his 
eyes the diamonds which Her Majesty had entrusted to me. 

"Oho!" said William, "those stones have been set in Ger- 
many, and not recently either Here is one which I recognize 

as having belonged to the Empress Maria Theresa." 

" Yes, it was from her," I replied, " that her ai^ust daughter 
received them," 

"I presume, sir," continued the English merchant, "that 
before bringing these diamonds you had them valued in Paris, 
and that you informed the Queen approximately of the price 
which you expected to obtain for them." 

"I did, sir, take that precaution: not that I thought that a 
purchaser of your nation would not give me a fair price, but 
in order that Her Majesty might know pretty nearly the value 
of the jewels she was placing in my hands," 

"And do you think," asked the jeweller, weighing the stones 
one after the other in his hands, "that you have received a 
(airly correct estimate of their value?" 

"The jeweller to whom I went is looked upon as one of the 
first experts in his trade." 

"Well, then, at how much did he value them together?" 
asked William, who had by this time submitted all the jewels 
to a rapid but attentive examination. 


" My countiyman thinks that these diamonds are worth to 
the trade purchaser 350.cxx> livres," I replied, determined as far 
as possible to protect the Queen's interests in the bargain which 
I was conducting. 

"Your country-man," replied the Englishman, **has either a 
very light hand or a very light conscience .... It is easy to see 
that all these brilliants, which have been set with the want of 
experience common to the workmen of the last century, are 
half hidden in their settings. I need not take them out and 
weigh them to be able to tell you that they are worth 100,000 
francs above the valuation of the Paris jeweller; and I will at 
once prove to you that I am able to form an idea of what 
they weigh without the setting. See, here is a single stone 
which I value at 9,000 livres of your money, without its setting ; 
I will have it taken out, and we will then weigh it, and by 
comparing it with the tariff, you will see that I am not two 
louis out." 

The experiment was made; and the brilliant, dear of its 
setting, and weighed with the greatest care, proved to be worth, 
at the current rate, 8,974 livres and 10 sous 

" You see," continued the English jeweller, laughing, ** that 
my estimate is pretty correct. And so I oflfer you 450,000 
livres, payable at sight on any place in Europe you may be 

pleased to mention This is only a trifling transaction, and it 

is no use to waste time in examining the jewels. Does my 
proposal suit you?" 

"The more so, sir," I replied, shaking the merchant by the 
hand, "since it is the proposal of a man of honour and of 
conscience . ..." 

"Say rather of an Englishman, sir." 

I did not think it necessary to deprive the British nation of 
the merit of this integrity in favour of the personal honesty of 
William; but I thought to myself that in generalizing in this 
way, the jeweller was giving way to an outburst of somewhat 
fanatical patriotism. 

"And so it is a bargain?" asked William. 

"Certainly," I hastened to reply, "and I will ask you, sir, 
to pay over the amount to the correspondent of M. Vandenj'vcr, 
the banker of the French Court." 


" Since you wish to receive the money in London, you must 
dine with me ; I will serve up your 450,000 livres in bank-notes 
at dessert Good-day .... till tw^o o'clock." 

We had seen the jeweller in his shop; at two o'clock, we 
found the ex-Lord Mayor in a sumptuous living-room : for 
William had been Lord Mayor in 1788, at a time when he 
inhabited the City. In the morning we had to do with a 
business-like and brusque-mannered merchant; in the afternoon 
we were received by a sort of grand seigneur^ with easy and 
polished manners, who welcomed us in the midst of an extreme- 
ly distinguished family, consisting of a lady in middle age, 
but still comely, two young girls, of whom the elder seemed to 
be about eighteen, and a young man, the brother of the two 
misses : he was addressed as the baronet. * 

All of these spoke French perfectly, and what I was far from 
expecting, William himself expressed himself in our language 
with astonishing facility, and almost without any accent, which 
is very rare among the English. I gaily taxed him with the 
innocent perfidy which he displayed that morning, when waiting 
for my words to be translated to him. 

"There was no perfidy in that," replied William, with a 
serious air. "Here I am the man in society, the host who is 
bound to sympathize as far as in him lies with the guests who 
honour his house with their presence. But in my shop it is 
different : I owe it to my customers to show myself under my 
national aspect, and I should dread, in employing a foreign 
language, to weaken by my uncertainty of expression the cha- 
racter for frankness which I consider to distinguish the English 
merchant. That was my motive, sir; and I am inclined to 
believe that you will agree with me." 

I replied that that was so, and I spoke the truth. 

" At my table, gentlemen," continued the jeweller, " I will be 
as French as you please : perhaps it would be more becoming 
to say as I can; but you will forgive me any little presumption 
in this respect when I tell you that I spent all my boyhood in 
the Paris work-rooms, and I do not hesitate to add that that is 
the reason why I have attained my present position .... The 
English jewellers lack the first two qualifications of our trade : 

* Sic in the original ; or rather, le baronnet. 


imagination and taste .... You see that if my nationality knows 
how to do justice to my countrymen, it is also ready to give 
their due to yours. But I wish," continued William, impa- 
tiently," " that my French cook would imitate my compliance 
and be a little more >\illing to adopt our English habits of 
punctuality; he is keeping us waiting dinner to-day in a most 
hopeless fashion .... In order to pass the time, gentlemen, let 
me show you my private collection, in which you will see some 
objects of a certain value." 

Leading us across his rooms, of which the furniture must 
have cost at least half a million, the English merchant took 
us to his study, whose walls were lined with well-stocked 
book-shelves. Behind one of the glass doors of these shelves, 
which William opened, and where we expected to see nothing 
but richly bound books, we found a small bronze door, upon 
which the graver's art had represented, with exquisite delicacy 
of workmanship, the principal attributes of commerce. This 
formidable barrier yielded to the application of a tiny steel key, 
which our host wore at his watch-chain. . . . We entered a very 
simply furnished room, lighted by a solitary window, which was 
protected by a double set of bars. 

"This closet," said William, ''contains all my wealth, with the 
exception of a few hundred thousand pounds sterling. ..." 

"I should think myself very lucky," said I, laughing, "if I 
was the owner of only one half of the exception." 

"Riches do not constitute the only happiness," murmured the 
jeweller, and I thought I heard a sigh accompany this reflection. 
And he continued, "When one does business, one's first care 
must be to be well supplied with stock. I have collected here 
all that can be wanted to make my trade go smoothly. On 
this side are the everyday necessities of our business," and he 
pointed to a pile of silver ingots on the ground, of about four 
cubic feet. Overhead, on stages, lay three or four hundred 
thousand pounds' worth of gold. "This is the market of my 
fellow-merchants," continued the jeweller, "and I try to let 
them be always well supplied in every branch of business." 

We turned towards some forty drawers, placed one above 
the other. 

" Here," said William, " I have a very complete collection, as 


I believe, of all known precious stones. I have for it the love 
of a collector for his hobby. . . . See," added the Englishman, 
opening one of the drawers, "here are three black diamonds. 
They are not the only ones in Europe, but I dare swear there 
is none known so large. . . . The Empress of Russia has long 
been bargaining for them ; but they would cost her about twenty 
thousand serfs, and Her Majesty very rightly thinks that she 
could adorn her crown more cheaply with benefits conferred 
upon her people." 

During the whole extent of a career devoted to the toilette 
of ladies of rank, I had never seen a black diamond. I exam- 
ined William's with mingled admiration and curiosity, and I 
was struck with the fire that escaped from them. 

The Strand tradesman opened all the drawers of his priceless 

treasure Never had I beheld so many brilliants, rubies, 

emeralds, sapphires, beryls, topazes and assorted pearls. ... It 
was as though a fairy's wand had opened up all these riches 
before my eyes I no longer felt surprise at William's des- 
cription of his purchase of the Queen's diamonds as a trifling 

A bell rang in a comer of the strong-room, and interrupted 
our inspection. 

"That," said our host, gaily, **is the call to a more precious 
collection, at this moment, than all these pretty gauds .... Put 
all of these before a horde of savages at a few paces from the 
dinner to which the bell summons us, and you would soon see, 
by means of the only true logic, that of necessity, which is the 
more real of the two." 

Our amphitryon was a philosopher, such as is not met with 
every day in the guild of jewellers. 

The dinner was sumptuous, sought-out, and long ; the English 
love the pleasures of the table, and it must be agreed that they 
employ their time well. The ladies themselves, however refined, 
are not considered to fall short of good manners if they eat 
with an appetite and even drink their wine without water. 
William's daughters were charming creatures, with slender. figures, 
recalling the ethereal virgins of Wodan's paradise .... and up>on 
my word they could have defied a Musketeer in swallowing 
a bumper of Lafite or Tokay. 


The elder of the two, whose name was Clarissa, had dooe 
honour to the dinner as freely as her younger sister, without 
losing a certain expression of melancholy which was imprinted 
upon her features .... This young girl was divinely beautiful ; 
but a practised eye could observe a drawn appearance about 
her face which only occurs, in England as well as in France, 
as the result of some imperious passion, and this passion is 
generally that of love .... 

" I can guess what you are thinking. Monsieur Leonard," 
whispered young T., who was siltiikg on my right. " Remind 
me to tell you about Miss Clarissa when we go from here." 

Except when one is eating, an English eveniag passes veiy 
sadly. The famous "routs," of which we have heard so much 
in recent years, are not to be excepted from this severe but 
accurate condemnation : one elbows each other, one treads on 
each other's feet ; the atmosphere is saturated with a pot-pourri 
of perfumes ; one yawns at these gatherings without meastue 
and almost without restraint. The two hours we spent in 
William's drawing-room after dinner seemed stow to me, notwith- 
standing that his younger daughter had exerted herself to play 
the piano in a distinguished fashion, and that her brother the 
baronet* had sung, one after the other, three Italian ballaos. 
Ei^Iand is not the classical home of the fine arts, and 'its 

indigenous music is deplorably mediocre We all know that 

some time ago it was necessary to call in our fellow-countryman 
Gossec t to compose their famous God Save lh€ King. 

Miss William's playing lacked neither precision nor delicacy 
of touch; but the execution was entirely devoid of soul, that 
vehicle of melody. As to the baronet, the Italian music, that 
so sweet, so harmonious utterance, sustained striking Injuries 
from his Brittanic accent .... There is no such grotesque 
parody as Italian in the mouth of an Englishman. 

The jeweller had taken advantage of a pause between a 

* Li'onard rontioues to lue thii itvic, anil it hat been thought bert to retain 
it in the translation. 

tFrancois Joseph GosMC, I7]3— 1B19, the ion o( a ploughman. He i* the 
i-omfKner of a numljei of oratorioi and operas, and of a veiy highly esteemed 
Requiem Man. In 17(15 be wu appointed the lint iK^tcitur of the dcw^ 
eMablished I'arii CoHSfrtaloirt. During the Ret-olulJoD he composed the 
creatiT part of the music for the I'alnutir frstivala. but this ii pcobablj tha 
first and last oi-«sion upon whi.h be has lii*n actuscd of «imposmg the 


Stasia on the piano and an Italian song to count out to me 
the price of the Queen's diamonds, and we took our leave of 
the merchant and his family at nine o'clock. 

" As a rule," said M. T., who accompanied me to the Golden 
Cannon, where I was still staying, " the English girls are virtuous ; 
but when their inclination does not prompt them to remain so, 
they take but little pains to struggle against the leanings which 
tend to bring about their fail: in this region the sex knows no 
mean between principle and passion. ... If you assail an 
Ei^lishwoman's virtue, especially before she has known the bonds 
of Hymen, either you will arouse her indignation to the highest 
degree, or she will tell you without a moment's hesitation, 'I 
am yours' .... It was in these terms that Miss Clarissa replied 
last year to a young Guardsman whom the baronet had brought 
with him to William's country-house in Kent. 

" The oflicer was handsome, admirably built, of amiable dis- 
position, and an excellent musician. He attracted Miss Clarissa 
and knew it. Whether the young soldier's love responded to 
hers I never discovered ; but where is the man who, seeing 
himself loved by a charming woman, will not find a reciprocating 
Rame in his head, if not in his heart? .... Onfe fine morning, 
William learnt that his daughter had eloped with his son's friend. 
The baronet, furious at the sight of the despair of his father 
and mother, of whom the latter was a woman with the virtue 
of a tigress, mounted one of hb hunters, and rode off in pursuit 
of the fugitives. Lovers in their situation do not travel very far, 
at least along the high-road, duringthefirstnight of theirjourney. 
The pursuer caught up the amorous couple in a lonely inn, 
orty miles from the starting-point. 

" The baronet forced his unworthy friend to give him satis- 
faction at the sword's point for the dishonour of the sister whom 
he loved. When this sort of combat succeeds another kind, it 
leaves but a small chance of victory to the combatant: the 
Guardsman was wounded, and Sir William carried off his sister. 
But the injury done to the rich merchant's family was not one 
of those which can be entirely wiped away in blood, and Clarissa's 
bther demanded a more complete satisfaction. He was repulsed 
by the parents of the seducer, who belonged to the illustrious 


race of the Somersets, and who refused an alliance with the family 
of a merchant, ex-Lord Mayor though he was. . . . Things should 
have been allowed to remain there, so as at least to prevent 
scandal from adding its melancholy lustre to the girl's dishonour. 

But William conceived the unhappy thought of going to law . 

Probably he thought himself rich enough to purchase justice for 
his daughter; it would have been better to remember that the 
Somersets were sufficiently powerful to intimidate the judges. . . . 
He lost his case : the pleadings established with scarcely a doubt 
that Miss William had given her full consent ; it wanted little to 
prove that it was she who had seduced her lover. The case 
could not have turned out worse for the poor girl's reputation; 
but her father's immense fortune is a sovereign balm for the 
severest wounds of chastity, and some day a philosophical aspirant 
will present himself, ready to cast the veil of sturdy resignation 
over the romance of a night of which the fair young English- 
woman has been the heroine. No female millionnaire has ever 
yet been known to remain single." 

I hastened to pay over the proceeds of the sale of the 
Queen's diamonds to the correspondent of M. Vandenyver, 
recommending Mm to transmit the amoimt to Paris with the 
least possible delay. William had promised me to keep secret 
this transaction, which, innocent though it was, would certainly 
have been turned to account by the enemies of Marie Antoi- 
nette, who would have scented some guilty destination for the 
450,000 francs which Her Majesty's private jewels had produced. 
I was far from foreseeing that this negociation would cause me 
so much annoyance a few months later, as all Europe has since 
known : I will speak of that when the time comes. 

The affair of the diamonds was not the only one which the 
Queen had deigned to entrust to me. I was charged with a 
number of errands for Her Majesty both in England and on 
the banks of the Rhine, whither I was instructed to repair after 
completing my most pressing business in London. One of my 
first commissions was to get word of the famous Comtesse de 
La Motte. I have already stated that Marie Antoinette had 
nothing to fear from this intriguing woman in any other case 
than that in which Her Majesty now found herself .... but for 


the past three years the Throne of France had been a sort of 
culprit's stool, and the calumnies spread broadcast concerning 
the King and Queen were accepted by that terrible judge, the 
public, as so many indictments of whose truth it was convinced 

Louis XVI/s Consort was but too well advised, alas ! that in 

times of revolution it is better to purchase silence than to treat 
a lie with contempt. I presumed that Madame T. would be 
able to procure me the address of the tainted descendant of 
the Valois and I hastened to go to and ask for it ... . al- 
though I must confess that my eagerness was considerably 
stimulated by my longing to hear the continuation of Julie's 


Julie's story {continued). 

I HAD chosen my time well for my visit to Madame T.'s 
work-room. Julie, the Landgravine-forewoman, had just finished 
her day's task, and was expecting me. She motioned me to 
the chair on which I had sat when she conmienced to tell me 
her story, and leaning with her arms on the green morocco chair 
which was the attribute of her industrial suzerainty, she continued 
her narrative as follows: 

" It was between Claye and Meaux that I acquired the 
melancholy certainly that to all the wealth of my husband there 
must be added a deficiency which in my eyes made him the 
poorest of men. The Landgrave threw himself at my feet, 
poured out the humblest excuses, and inflicted upon me, through 
the rumbling of the carriage-wheels, the following strange discourse : 

**'I have deceived you, Julie. I yielded to the absurdest of 
vanities, and endeavoured with l>'ing appearances to conceal 
the deplorable impotence with which capricious Nature has 
afflicted me. In France, an infirmity is looked upon as ridicu- 
lous. I dreaded to become a prey to the sarcasm of your 
countrymen, and as I wished fully to enjoy that Paris which 
is so rightly called the Paradise of pleasure, I took it into my 
head to practise the most extraordinary charlatanism. Alas! I 
found myself reduced to contemplate the charms of a sex of 
which my brain was enamoured, without being permitted to 
render it any other homage save that of admiration; and never- 
theless I had the pretension to play the part of a Lothario. I 
thought that, as a good Prussian, I was in honour bound not 
to let my reputation suffer, even in this respect, in comparison 
with the French, and I longed at all cost to enrol my name 



on the list of the channing rakes who are run after by 
the Court and the town. The servants in my employment, 
the friends whom my wealth had not failed to attract, the 
journalists whom it is so easy - to purchase, all spread abroad 
the fiame of my adventures; and I alone was in the secret of 
the shame that I had undergone in those adventures which I 
had carried to an issue, and of the mocking laughter of the 
women whose favours I had so dearly bought or whose tender 
affection I had so cruelly deceived. 

"'By the ill luck common to all upon whom Heaven has 
imposed this disgrace, I love, with all the might of my soul 
and imagination, the sex of whose derision I am the object at 
the very moment when all amorous effort is realized in the 
supreme melting-pot of voluptuousness; and by a still greater 
fatality, I love it especially under those conditions in which I 
can only excite its pitying contempt or its angry resentment. 

"'Such, my poor Julie, was the motive that turned me to 
you. My secret could not long be kept in the midst of the 
world when my untoward desires prompted me each day to 
divulge it. I longed for a companion for whom it would be, 
at most, a family secret. And so I am guilty towards you, 
dear wife; but my crime is not without its compensations. I 
make you a Countess, almost a Sovereign. I give you a large 
fortune. For your precarious existence I substitute a life without 
care, without disquietude, and I hope without unhappiness. Can 
you pardon me, therefore, for deceiving you on this one point, 
in order to fulfil your wishes in every other respect?* 

" During this long speech of the Landgrave's, I had been able 
to examine my position from every point of view, and this 
mental examination soon revealed to me the resource which lies 
within the grasp of every woman deceived as I had been, and 
in whatever country. . . . But you can imagine, Leonard, that • 
I took care not to let my sham spouse perceive my design to 
supply myself with the only compensation which he had not 
mentioned to me. On the contrary', I swathed myself in a noble 
and becoming resignation. I told Norkitten that my gratitude 
for his kindnesses would rise above all the coarse pricks of the 
senses ; that theatre-woman though I was, my sentiments would 


not do discredit to the rank to which he had condescended to 
raise me, and that my duty would always be to me a supreme law. 

"Our journey proceeded under the appearance of the most 
tender intimacy. Truly, one would have said that I regarded 
as the most insignificant accessory, as a wholly unimportaot 
superfluity, all that was lacking in the Count's affection to con- 
stitute conjugal happiness in the opinion of a woman of twenty. 
And so we arrived in Berlin. 

" My husband insisted that I should be presented to the King. 
Personally I cared but Uttle for this s^nal distinction. Frederick 
II. was then King of Prussia, and I knew that with ladies 
Frederick the Great was not always Frederick the Polite. 
However, I prepared to undergo this presentation. The philo- 
sopher of Sans-Souci was at Potsdam, where His Majesty was 
building a palace. We went to this residence in gala dress. 
We were spared the formalities of the introduction, and I was 
glad of it. One of the chamberlains, a friend of the Landgrave's, 
came to tell us that the victor of Rosbach was engaged with 
his bricklayers, and conducted us to His Majesty. 

" We had some difficulty in distinguishing the Prussian Csesar 
from among the workmen who surrounded him, his clothes and 
even his face being covered with mortar. Frederick was for the 
moment practising greatness after the fashion of the Czar Peter 
I., whom he had seen as a child. When the King beheld a 
lady in hill dress, with her train sweeping the paths of his 
gardens, he stepped out from the group of masons, holding a 
rule in his hand, and came towards us. 

" ' Ah ! is that you, general ? ' said he to the Landgrave, after 
bowing to me and touching his hat, which he soiled with mortar 
in doing so. ' Back already from the fair land of France ? Were 
the frfederics d'or so soon exhausted?' 

" ' No, Sire, but I thought it my duty not to remain away 
longer from Your Majesty's service.' 

" ' That is very well said, general ; but in any case I see that 
if the pleasures of Paris have made inroads upon your moneyed 
treasure, you have biot^ht back with you another of a more 
precious kind. . . .' 

" ' Your flattering compliment makes me unspeakably fortunate. 
Sire, in being able to present to you the Countess of Norkitten. . . .' 


"'Your marriage, I presume, was the result of one of those 
sympathetic lightning-flashes with which our phlegmatic Germans 
are but ill acquainted. We did not hear of your intention of 
forming this match. . . . But one can readily imagine that to 
have been the case, Monsieur le Comte, when one looks at 
Madame : long formalities are incompatible with the hope of 
such a charming possession.' 

" * Sire,* I replied, with my most gracious smile, ' if M. le 
Comte neglected to obtain Your Majesty's leave before marrying, 
it was because he was anxious to let me admire the greatest 
Sovereign of the world.' 

" * A real French answer, fair lady ; but I too know how to 
make madrigals in your language, and I should say that it was 
much more probable that Norkitten feared lest you should 
escape him. However, we are all the gainers by his eagerness,' 
continued Frederick the Great, with exquisite courtesy, *and I 
sincerely hope that my Court may have its share of so charming 
an acquisition.' 

" The Landgrave and I bowed. Some general officers came 
upon the scene, and put an end to the Royal audience, and 
we took leave of His Majesty. I withdrew enchanted with this 
King, who had been described to me as a soldier of free speech, 
vulgar, and always willing to insult my sex, which possessed for 
him, it was said, not the slightest attraction. I never knew any one 
able to verify this fact, Frederick, when taking my hand, squeezed 
it with his own, and yet it is improbable that I resembled any 
of his Court pages. 

"The Hero of the North was at that time sixty-one years 
of age, and nothing about his person harmonized with his 
heroic reputation. No imposing feature revealed the greatness 
of Frederick II. : his physiognomy was satirical rather than 
noble ; his eyes, shaded with thick eyebrows, shot out sparks 
of wit, but no single flash of genius : one might have thought 
that, like Nicomedes of old, the King was destined to triumph 
over his enemies rather by his incisive irony than by his 

military initiative Frederick the Great exaggerated military 

ways to such an extent that one might think he had need of 
this affectation in order to keep up the enthusiasm of his 
admirers. They grew accustomed to seeing him from early 


morning with his neck confined withia a brass or horse-hair 
collar, which traced a threefold wrinkle on his hanging jowls. 
His back was rounded into a semicircle; his waist was tightly 
compressed by a black silk sash ; his short, lean thighs concealed 
their piiny forms in a pair of ample blue cloth breeches ; and 
his little legs, which had strode so far across the field ofgjory, 
were lost within the folds of a huge pair of jack-boots. All 
this, combined with the historic pigtail of which so much has 
been talked, constituted, in the eyes of the vulgar, the great 
captain, the great sovereign. And by the vulgar I mean almost 
the totality of mankind. You could find but few who would 
be disposed to applaud the great actors of this stage of oius 
if they showed themselves in deshabille. 

" Before setting out for our Landgraviate of Norkitten, the 
Count took me over the theatrical town which Frederick II, was 
adorning with magnificent facades, hiding the mean brick and 
mortar behind. As I looked at the back of this vain architect- 
ural display, it seemed to me as though I was lifting up the 
embroidered skirt of a Parisian grisette and catching sight of 
the equivocal shift beneath. And yet this Berhn of the Opera 
stage was the finest attempt at decoration which Frederick the 
Great was able to offer to the travellers in his country, . . , 

" After a fortnight's journey, which proved for me but a veiy 
pale honey-moon, we came within sight of the picturesque rather 
than smiting banks of the Pregel, The count pointed out to 
me, jutting out from a fine park, the Castle of Norkitten, sur- 
rounded by the houses of the fair-sized town of the same 
name. The country side seemed to me to be pretty animated, 
and I congratulated myself at not having to spend my life in 
one of those ruined, feudal edifices which I had occasionally 
seen planted here and there in the midst of the gloomy forests 
of pine-trees which we had passed through on our way. 

"Albeit my husband was Landgrave only in name, since 
Frederick II. has, as it were, extinguished all the pretty sover- 
eignties which might have interfered with his own, the inhabitants 
of Norkitten nevertheless beheld in their lord the descendant 
of the old sovereigns of the County, and treated him, except 
with respect to their taxes, much as they had treated his pre- 
decessors. We were received with a salute from the twelve little 



guns which lay modestly hidden behind the ramparts of the 
Castte ever since their detonation was no longer a due official 
homage paid to any but the King ; but our vanity enjoyed this 
tribute without any dread, since there was little likelihood of 
Frederick II. 's hearing at Berlin the honour fraudulently rendered 
to the Landgrave of Notkitten." 

When Julie's story had reached thus far, a large order for 
fiowers, newly arrived, constrained her to postpone its contin- 
uation. On the morning of the next day, I was to have an inter- 
view with the notorious Comtesse de La Motle, whom I had 
b^ged to wait in for me. I had therefore to put off till the 
afternoon the conclusion of a narrative which, I confess, played 
upon my curiosity as much by the strangeness of the events it 
contained, as by the philosophic ease with which it was told by 
my Landgravine-floweTwoman. 


The Comtessc de I^ Motte in her London home— Julie's Story (conclmdtd). 

The Comtesse de La Motte resided, in January 1792, in Swallow 
Street, London. She occupied a more than modest third-floor 
apartment, consisting of two rooms, which she did not keep 
over clean, despite the numerous visitors whom curiosity drew to 
visit this pitiful celebrity. 

Jeanne de Saint- Remy de Valois had dressed herself, to receive 
me, with all the coquettishness which her position allowed her 
to indulge in. Finding her thus adorned, and seeing on her 
lips a smile which even at this date gave her a look of pretti* 
ness, I concluded that she had determined to sell me either a 
disavowal of the insults contained in the Memoirs which she 
had recently had composed for her by a French writer, a former 
actor, whom she paid for his work with her mercenary favours* 
ox else a categorical declaration exculpating the Queen in the 
matter of the diamond necklace. 

A capitulation upon these terms would certainly have suited 
the avaricious views of Madame de La Motte. But will it be 
believed that, although reduced to the most absolute state of 
necessity, although lacking food when prostitution did not pro* 
vide her with it, this woman found within her cancered soul 
the diabolical strength to refuse to publish the truth which Uy 
hidden in her breast? Whenever she received notice of the 
approaching visit of an emissiiry from the Queen, she resolved 
to sell her disavowals, more 4)r less garbled, it is true, more or 
less ])erfidious, and interlarded with a scries of reticences which 
the malevolent might con.sider yet more convincing than her 
lying accusations. . . . But no sooner did she find herself face 
to face with the agents of the French Court, than the thunder 
of the hatred whit h she Ixirr Marie Antoinette drowned the 




most urgent promptings of her needs. Grinding her teeth she 
exclaimed, " Suffer, wretched woman, shiver by your empty hearth, 
starve before your empty side-board, and live upon your bitter 
resentment until it devours your very breasts." 

At the conmiencement of my interview with Jeanne de 
Valois, I saw her thus wavering between the most terrible 
extremities .... For a moment I hoped to incline the scale of 
truth by heaping it up with gold .... I forcibly bent Madame 
de La Motte's fingers so as to make them close upon two rolls 
of a hundred louis, and I saw her turn red and pale in succes- 
sion; her knees trembled beneath her; her heart beat so that 
you might have heard it on the stairs; and certain of my 
trimnph, I said : 

"My dear countess, one word, and all this gold is yours." 

"One word, that is very little," she replied, scrutinizing my 
features with a fixed look. 

"It is all I ask. Declare that the word ^ Approuve^ and 
the signature '^ Marie- Antoinette de France^ written upon the 
conditions of sale and payment of the necklace are not in the 
Queen's hand . . . ." 

"You ask nothing more than that!" cried the countess, 
showing her two rows of small, white teeth, clenched together. 
" Ah ! credulous Leonard, if those few words had been forged, 
would the stupid big-wigs of your Parliament have written in 
their hideous verdict, *The said words shall be erased and 
expunged ?* The proof of a forgery is never destroyed. It is 
preserved for all time, especially when the honour of a Queen 
of France is compromised by it. It is preserved so that future 
generations may know that it was indeed a forgery, and that the 
Queen was falsely accused. If I were to declare that the word 
^ Approuv^^ and the signature were not in her hand, the mala- 
droitness of your parliament would give me the lie." 

"A judicial error cannot hold against a statement of truth." 

"But you don't know what you ask of me, monsieur!" cried 
Madame de La Motte, with a sort of roar. " I hear it every 
moment, through the hubbub of the day, through the silence 
of the night, waking, sleeping, I hear the fimeral knell issuing 
from the butcher's throat : * I condemn Jeanne de Valois de 
Saint- Remy de Luz to be taken with a rope around her neck. 


and to be beaten and fustigated on her naked body with rods, 
and to be burnt with a hot iron upon both shoulders in the 
shape of a letter V, and the sentence shall be carried out by 
the executioner of the High Court' And do you think they 
spared me this horrible sentence?" continued the coUDtess, in 
furious accents. "See, judge for yourself, satellite of the Court; 
see whether the gold you offer me can make me forget the 
scars with which my poor body is covered .... Bah ! for me 
the words shame and chastity are but empty sounds .... did 
not all that Paris crowd sec my blood trickling down my bare 
limbs? See, behold the traces left by what you call justice ... ." 

And Madame de La Motte, tearing off her kerchief, and 
snatching aside the bodice of her gown, showed me a long 
wound marking where the red-hot iron had passed over her 
breast while she was struggling beneath the executioners' hands .... 
And then, uncovering her thighs with still less reserve, she showed 
me the purple marks of the rods upon her skin white as satin. 

"And you expect me," cried she, "to forget such outr^es 
as these ; you expect my voice and my pen to absolve her who 
could not find one pitying word to slay the hands of the execu- 
tioners from touching the body of a descendant of the Kings! 

Never ! Never ! . , ." 

After giving way to this paroxysm of frenzied anger, the 
unhappy woman lay back in her arm-chair, exhausted and 
deprived of movement, without closing the garments that she had 
torn asunder before my eyes. 

While I assisted her to recover herself, one of the rolb of 
louis which I held in my hand fell down and burst, and the 

coins rolled all over the room I had not the courage to 

pick Ihem up ; and soon af^er, I went away, determined to leave 
this gold for the wretched woman's use. In an hour's time 
Jeanne de Valois walked into my room, panting, with haggard 
looks, and under the influence of a powerful emotion. 

"Monsieur," exclaimed the countess, "what is the meaning 
of this gold which lay strewn over my floor, and which I now 
bring back to you ? What have I said ? What have I done ? 
How did I earn this money ? " 

" By your misfortunes alone, madame. . . ." 

"Oh no, you are deceiving me," she resumed. "Imusthmva 


spoken, I contradicted myself, I have become the most contempt- 
ible of creatures But I withdraw all that I may have said 

in contradiction to that inexorable resentment which, is now my 
only virtue." 

"Egad, madame, you said nothing, nothing at all " 

" Take back that money, Monsieur Leonard I will not 

have it Ah ! " she added, drawing herself up to her full 

height, "iniamy has not exhausted all the Royal blood I once 

had in my veins I will only keep one of these pieces to 

buy bread with. . . . vice sometimes fails to provide me with it " 

With these words, Jeanne dc Valois placed the money upon 
the table, with the exception of one louis, and left the room 
with precipitate steps. Such a woman as this was bound to end 
as she did : no one was surprised to read one day in the English 
newsp)aper, the Times, that in an attack of madness she had 
hurled herself from her window and killed herself on the sp>ot. 

My Landgravine of the flower-factory was awaiting me at the 
appointed time to tell me the end of her story. I remarked 
to her, with some malice, that she always sent away the cutter 
when she was about to relate her narrative. 

" You shall soon see why," she replied, " and you shall see that 
it is because of the interest which I take in him : there are 
certain events in one's life which are always present to the mind, 
and which one need not go out of one's way to recall." 

" This means, I presume, that M. Stanislas has played his part 
in the adventures of Madame la Landgravine de Norkitten." 

" That goes without saying. . . . But listen." 

And Julie, who had stilt two or three bouquets to finish, 
resumed her recital, while continuing to turn in her fingers the 
artificial flowers, which she mounted upon green paper, in order 
to simulate the natural colour of their stalks: 

"The Castle of Norkitten, whose courtyard we entered amid 
the roar of artillery, was built by those old German knights who 
were formerly so powerful in the North of Germany. It is a 
most imposing historic monument, and gives a great idea of the 
m^ht of its former owners. Nevertheless the sight of its gloomy 
walls, its Gothic arches and its turrets with their narrow loop- ' 
holes, produced in my mind an indefinable sadness, and spread 


a sombre veil over the opulent and glorious future which my 
imagination had until then portrayed .... Vain were these hopes 
of compensation which I had hoped, as an ex-dancer, to procure 
myself. . . . The Castle seemed to me to be a prison in which 
my youth was to be spent deprived of all the pleasures which 
form its only charm .... I heaved sigh upon sigh .... 

" The carriage drew up at the foot of a great 'flight of steps, 
down which came to greet us a venerable housekeeper, followed 
by an ecclesiastic who seemed to be seventy or seventy-five 
years old .... Three or four servants and the same number 
of gamekeepers soon came after to receive their master and to 
carry our luggage indoors .... I saw before me all the House- 
hold of the honorary Landgrave of Norkitten, and not one 
of the retainers that met my eyes was less than half a centur}* 
in years .... And as the clergyman gave me his hand to 
ascend a wide, cold, stone stairway, I said to myself that I had 
undoubtedly made a fool's bargain. 

" Alas ! my sad forebodings were all too soon to be realized. 
My husband was madly in love with me .... In love ! forgive 
me, God ! for using such an expression in speaking of such a 
man .... and displayed such intense jealousy that for neariy 
three years the septuagenarian priest who fulfilled the office of 
chaplain was the only man allowed access to me in the Count's 

" Norkitten did not receive a soul, and replied to none of 
the invitations that reached him every day from the neighbour- 
ing landlords. Time after time, from 1773 to 1777, Frederick 
II. obligingly invited the Landgrave to bring me to his Court; 
but in my husband's replies he always pleaded a legion of 
rheumatic pains, or sciatical aches, or gouty attacks which kept 
him at the banks of the Pregel. 

"In other respects I was allowed to want for nothing. The 
most elegant equipages, the newest and most dain^ fashions, 
the most costly jewels were lavished upon me, without my even 
taking the trouble to ask for them. The Landgrave, though 
himself but little inclined for the pleasures of the table, caused 
ours to be covered for my benefit with the most delicate viands, 

llie most exquisite wines For a moment, I thought of 

drinking to excess, hoping to deceive through one form of 


intoxication the barren transports of another. But my experi- 
ment proved a disastrous one, and I speedily learnt that these 
two forms of intoxication go hand in hand, an^ that while 
trying to overcome that which did not hold out the goblet to 
me, I only succeeded in exalting it. 

" I next abandoned myself to a succession of whimsical tastes, 
hoping that the Count would weary of his endless yielding to 
my fancies, and leave me free to follow my own inclinations. 
Vain hope ! I became devoted to music : it turned out that 
my husband was an excellent musician. I desired to learn to 
paint : he appointed himself my instructor. The art of riding 
came next : Norkitten was considered one of the best horsemen 
in the Kingdom. Then came the turn of hunting: none more 
expert than the Landgrave with hounds or with gun. 

*'*You must agree, Monsieur le Comte,' said I one day to 
the too imiversally gifted Landgrave, and I gave a bitter smile i 
* you must agree that Nature, when endowing you with an almost 
general aptitude, would have done better to complete her 

" * That is true, my dear Julie. But as luck would not have 
it so, I must strive to make the most of those faculties which 
I possess, that you may have the less leisure to think of those 
in which I am deficient.' 

"The strain of irony which I scented in this reply excited 
my vexation. Said I to myself, * The Landgrave plumes himself 
upon the state of slavery to which he has reduced me; his 
jealousy gives a sort of defiance to my cunning ; I must triumph 
in this struggle, were it only for the honour of my sex. . . . 
Honour is perhaps not exactly the word ; no matter, my mind 
is made up.* 

" Destiny also had made up its mind, which unfortunately did 
not agree with mine. Four long years passed, during which I 
endured the saddest slavery which it is possible for a woman to 
undergo. I was wearied of everything, because in everything 
that I took up I felt the weight of the conjugal chain which was 
crushing me. It was at this pitch of satiety that I thought of 
learning Latin. I knew that the Count had never studied, and 
I hoped to escape by this means from his eternal obsession. 

" * I want to learn Latin,* said I, one morning, to my husband. 


"*An excellent idea/ replied the Landgrave, who had long 
since made up his mind to express astonishment at none of my 
caprices. ' My chaplain shall teach you. ... I am quite ready 
to abandon my Helo'lse to that Saint-Preux. . . .' 

" * How generous, Monsieur le Comte ! * 

'''I shall always be generous, Countess, when prudence does 
not forbid me.' 

'* This reply angered me to such a degree that if it had been 
eleven at night and the septuagenarian chaplain had been in 
my room, I would have said to him. 'Monsieur, do me the 
kindness to sleep with me, so that the G>unt may find you in 
my bed in the morning.' 

" Nevertheless, after my first momentary annoyance, I thought 
of the good priest only as my professor. He taught me to 
conjugate amo^ but with him that verb in all its moods and 
tenses was entirely without consequence. 

'* I experienced a certain pleasure in mastering the difficulties 
of my studies. How my former companions at the Op>era would 
have laughed could they have seen me busied with Livy, Tadtus 
and Juvenal ! But it was the poets especially that gave me real 
delight, when I had come to understand their language, so rich 
in figures and in imitative harmony. . . . The passion which filled 
their verses suffused with delight that which had so long lain 
inactive in my heart. . . . Virgil filled my dreams with his i^neas 
and his Tumus ; Ovid and Tibullus brought back to me the 
fond idiom of love ; and sometimes in my dreams I would sub- 
stitute myself for the Julia of the former or the Delia of the 
latter. Once I mischievously told my husband of this, and I 
saw that he became almost jealous of the Roman knights of 
the Augustan age. 

" It was not until after my fourth year of married life that 
an event occurred which was to change my bed of thorns into 
one of roses. 

" My maid was the only person of youthful years in the castle, 
besides myself. The girl loved me and pitied my troubles, 
which she easily understood, for the Prussian women are very 

" * Madame la Comtesse,' she said to me one day, * I am 
going to leave you. . . .' 


" * What do T hear, Bertha ? Are you going to abandon me, 
you, who seemed so devoted to me ? * 

" * It is my love for you, Madame, that makes me leave you,* 
replied my maid, lowering her voice. 

" * I do not understand.' 

" * I cannot and must not explain myself further at present. 
I know you are unhappy, and I am willing to help to soften 
your lot, but I dare not tell you all, lest you yourself should 
prove an obstacle to your own happiness.* 

"*My dear Bertha, you are becoming more and more mys- 

" * I hope, Madame la Comtesse,* replied Bertha, laughing, 
* that the facts will be more easily understood, when they take place. 
But by telling you of them, I should risk preventing them. I 
am going straight to M. le Comte to tell him that I am leaving 
the service of Madame la Comtesse in order to ... . to get 

" * And not a word of your plans, my good Bertha ? ' 

" * Not a word ; but soon I hope you will witness some very 
satisfactory effects. ... By the way, I would urgently beg Madame 
la Comtesse to receive a new lady*s maid upon my recommen- 
dation that is quite essential.* 

"*I ask no better; but the Count. . . .* 

" * There is no reason why he should refuse. He knows that 
I have served you faithfully, Madame, and so long as the usual 
formalities are gone through * 

"*Ah yes, the secret inspection by the old housekeeper, so 
as to make certain that no lover is brought into the castle in 
the disguise of a lady's maid.* 

"*A very salutary precaution,* said the waiting-maid, with an 
arch smile. 

" My efforts were of no avail to assist me in obtaining a word 
more from Bertha on the happiness which she promised to 
procure for me by leaving me. So far was I from suspecting 
ts nature, that I began to think it a mere expedient which the 
girl had contrived in order to escape from the tediousness of a 
condition but little suited to the ordinary leanings of youth, 
which are none too scrupulous in the case of the serving-maids 
of Prussia. 

VOL. II. 8 


"M. de Norkitten gave a ready ear to Bertha's supposed 
marriage, and I thought it quite natural that she should leave 
me from so legitimate a motive. As she had always conducted 
herself very properly at the Castle, the Count willingly accepted 
her recommendation of a new lady's maid. He insisted, however, 
upon the secret examination entrusted to the old matron, the 
official duenna of the Lord of Norkitten. 

"Bertha took leave of me with a knowing little air, with a 
roguish wink which for the moment gave me no due whatever 
to her intentions. She went away. In the evening the Land- 
grave brought me a tall, handsome girl, who spoke French 
with an ease that agreeably surprised me. I learnt, moreover, 
that she possessed many amiable accomplishments, and I expe- 
rienced some satisfaction in perceiving that this yoimg girl would 
at least be able to add to my few resources of distraction .... 
My new maid told me in my husband's presence that her name 
was Isabella, and that she belonged to a family of French 
origin which had sought refuge in Prussia after the revocation 
of the Edict of Nantes, whose name she was bound to keep 
secret. In explanation of this mystery, Isabella told us of ships 
lost at sea, of great misfortunes that had followed, and of a 
commercial catastrophe which had completely ruined her fiather. 
We respected her secret, and her narrative, obscure though it 
was, seemed the more probable to my husband in that she 
expressed herself, both in French and in German, with great 
elegance, and she seemed to have received an excellent edu- 

" Isabella treated me with an amount of forethought which, 
notwithstanding her menial condition, sometimes struck me as 
exaggerated. Sometimes, also, I appeared to discover in her 
smile the expression of an arch comment upon certain of my 
habits, which doubtless failed to impress her as in keeping with 
my rank. I am generally allowed to possess that vivacity of 
imagination which is readily taken for wit; but I cannot hide 
from myself that a Countess whose career has been commenced 
on the boards of the Opera, long retains the ease of manner of her 
first condition of life : a manner that partakes of the natural is 

not so easily reformed Frankly, if my waiting-maid and I 

had been introduced together at the Court of Berlin, it is pro- 


bable that the homage due to the Countess would have been 
paid to her. 

"I soon became delighted with my new acquisition. Isa- 
bella's conversation and accomplishments often made me forget 
the weariness of my position. Some six months ago, the 
Landgrave had set himself to write his Memoirs upon the 
Seven Years' War. Upon my word, it only wanted that he 
should become an author to proclaim him the greatest bore 
of his age; and he doubtless wanted to perfect himself in 
this respect. But I owed to that the complete diversion of that 
phosphorescent love which vainly glittered around my life, like 
a will-o'-the-wisp without heat .... For him, it was a sterile 
£Eitigue the less: for me it was so much repose won and so 
much disgust the less. 

"So long as Norkitten had maintained his vain pretence of 
proving his love, he had forbidden my waiting-maid to sleep in 
my room : ^ jealous man dreads even a shadow. But when 
the Count began to imagine himself a little Csesar writing his 
Commentaries, the fire of his genius (if fire there were in him 
at all) replaced that of his conjugal fondness, and he desisted 
from tormenting my nights with his hopeless experiments. Bertha 
received permission to sleep in a room adjacent to mine .... 
I learnt later that this change in my nocturnal habits was the 
motive which inspired that good-hearted girl, and put into her 
head the project which she carried into execution on leaving me. 

"So great was the Landgrave's literary preoccupation, that he 
now left me free to roam in the park, not exactly alone with my 
maid, but accompanied at some distance by himself, a distance 
great enough to prevent our feminine chatter from troubling the 
warlike recollections which he was working up in his study. One 
fine morning in the month of June 1777, Isabella and I were 
walking in the long alley in the park, some fifty paces in front 
of the Count, when my maid told me she had seen a very rare 
flower in a thicket, and suddenly ran forward and pushed through 
the foliage in order to gather this botanical rarity. ... I was 
about to follow Isabella into the imderwood, so as to admire 
this flower as early as possible, when I saw her return, and I 
seemed to observe a certain alteration in her appearance. In 
her hand she held a flower that did not impress me as par- 


ticularly noticeable, although she continued to praise its beauties 
to me. As she spoke, her voice seemed to participate in the 
alteration that I had remarked upon her features, and I asked 
her if the impression made upon her by the discover)' of so 
very insignificant a fiower was sufficient to cause the trouble 
under which she was apparently labouring. 

"*No, Madame la Comtesse, ' replied Isabella, 'my distress is 
due to another cause. Just now, as I hastily plucked this flo- 
wer, I felt beneath my hand something as cold as ice: it was 
a huge adder, which wriggled upon the ground at my feet, and 
I nearly trod upon it.' 

** * Poor Isabella, how frightened you must have been : anyone 
would have been distressed.* 

'''Yes, Madame, any one would have been distressed, I can 
assure you.' 

*• We returned to the castle, and during the rest of the day 
my maid >poke very little. When she did speak, I continued 
to notice the same difference in her voice. Moreover, the poor 
girl forgot where she had placed the various things in my 
room, and had to look for them every moment; I was obliged 
to tell her where she had put everything the day before. 

" When it had become my time to retire, I said to Isabella: 

** * Come, child, let as see if you can manage to undress me 
without being troubled with the thought of that terrible adder 
.... Why, the serpent who tempted our Mother Eve did not 
make such a deep impression upon her.' 

" ' But then he was certain beforehand of his triumph, and 
did not assume so formidable an appearance as the one in the 

"'Well, mv dear Isabella, I can sec vou have not vet re- 
covered frc^m your fright. Why, you arc trembling while you 
unlace mc. . . . See, here is an e<isicr task,' I continued, sitting 
down, * undo my garters, they hurt me . . . .' 

'* And raising my petticoat without any precaution, I enabled 
my maid at once to untie the ofl'ending riband, when suddenly, 
to my amazement, the girl, instead of her hands, applied In 
the limbs I had just uncovered lips that seemed to be 
of fire! 

" * Is;ilK'lla. what docs this mean ? ' I exclaimed. 



* * Isabella is here no longer, Madame/ replied, in a trembling 
voice, the person who remained hanging over my knees to the 
great prejudice of my chastity. . . . 

"'What! then who ?' 

" * I am Stanislas Count Delvinski — I am a man who 
loves you passionately — who has sworn to possess you at the 
risk of his life.... Isabella is my sister; she gave up her place 
to me this morning.... Do not treat me more unkindly than 
Eve treated the serpent who tempted her: I bring you the fruit 
of the Tree of Happiness.* 

" Leonard, what can I say ? I was distraught, I was beside my- 
self. For four years I had been deprived of the happiness which 
Stanislas promised me. I could think of nothing to say .... A man 
knelt at my feet, young, beautiful, fond; and I gave myself to 
him without reflecting whether I had foimd a sincere lover, with- 
out asking him whether he would be true He has been both : 

Stanislas Coimt Delvinski is the cutter of our work-shop." 

"A Polish count, cutter to a flower-factory!" 

" Love and destiny often bring about strange transformations," 
resumed the ex-Landgravine of Norkitten, "as the end of my 
tale will show you. The scene I have just described to you 
took place at ten o'clock in the evening: it was not until ten 
in the morning that I remembered that Stanislas might have 
something to tell me, and the young count was the first to think 
of it we had been together for twelve hours. 

" ' My name, ' said Stanislas, when he had resumed his woman's 
apparel, 'will have told you that I am a Pole. My sister and 
I are the sole heirs of Count Delvinski who died in battle during 
the troubles that preceded the enslaving of our imhappy country. 
We were bom on the same day, and never were twins seen so 
alike. We were left orphans in our early youth, and lived in 
strict retirement in a small castle a few leagues from here, on 
the banks of the Vistula, loving one another after the manner 
of twins, and promising never to part. We were free and rich, 
and we never thought of seeking happiness outside the chaste 
love that united us. Four years passed, when last month I met 
you, my adorable Julie, when driving in the neighbourhood of 
Gumbinnen. From that moment I knew that there lay at the 


bottom of my heart a source of felicity different from that which 
I enjoyed by the side of my gentle sister. "That is the beau- 
tiful Landgravine of Norkitten," said a friend with whom I was 
walking, and who perceived the keen emotion produced on me 
by your appearance. "A charming Frenchwoman, whom her 
husband, an old leather-breeches of the school of Frederick the 
Great, defends against the approach of the gallants, as he might 
defend a redoubt in battle. It is a great pity, egad ! The Coun- 
tess has a lo\ing pair of eyes, and the Count does not give the 
impression of being a very fervent adorer.... There must be 
an over-abundance of leisure in the affections of that pretty 
turtle-dove from the banks of the Seine." 

"'From that day all my time was devoted to my search 
for means of reaching you. Fortune, the friend of lovers, 
favoured me. Bertha, your waiting-maid, proved to be the niece 
of an old retainer of our house, and she came to see him the 
week after my return from Gumbinnen. I soon discovered that 
the girl was devoted to you; I begged her to meet me in the 
park; I don't know what she imagined, but she came. 

** * ** My dear Bertha,** said I, going up to her, * the happi- 
ness of my life depends on you. . . .' 

** * ** Monsieur le comte," replied she, blushing, •• I am .... 
I am an honest girl " 

*" ** I know it, Bertha ; and I have not the slightest designs 
upon your honour .... You live at the Castle of Norkitten." 

" ' " Yes, monsieur le comte . . . ." 

" * " You are attached to the service of the Countess . . . .* 

" * " And I know what a melancholy existence can be led by 
a woman endowed with an immense fortune." 

" * " What does she need. Bertha?" 

" ' " A husband, monsieur le comte .... a husband, though 
she has one." 

" * " I have been told so already, and I thought . . . ." 

** * " That a lover might take the place of the husband of 
whom my mistress is deprived . . . ." 

" * " Does that strike you as Uh) audacious?" 

u < 44 Very frankly, no ... . But our Castle is an inaccessible 
fortress, at whose fo<.)t all the tricks of the swains have failed 
up to the present.... for you are not the first, monsieur le 


comte, that has been smitten with my mistress's charms .... 
But none has been able to penetrate to her. The Count is the 
most careful, the most cunning of jealous husbands : even my 
own sex is the object of his distrust and his precautions. During 
the five years that he has been married, I am the first lady's 
maid who has been permitted to sleep in Madame's apartment." 

" * ** Ah, Bertha, how happy you must be !" 

" ' " You mean to say, monsieur le comte, how happy you 
would be in my place," replied the Prussian waiting-maid, with 
the knowing smile of a soubrette of the Com^die Fran9aise. 

" * " Your place, my dear child, I would pay two himdred 
fired^rics d'or to possess." 

" * " I would give it you for less than that, for I think that 
the change would be greatly to my mistress's advantage." 

" * " And you think that the chances . . . ." 

" * " Would be all in love's favour." 

•* * Forgive me,' said Stanislas, interrupting himself, * forgive 
me for venturing to repeat to you so freely my conversation 
with Bertha . . . .' 

" * Continue,' I replied ; * you see that the girl did not pro- 
mise too much.' 

" Stanislas continued : 

" * " To think that there is no practical expedient," said I, 
striking my forehead. 

" * " An expedient ? " said Bertha, with the vivacity that 
reveals a sudden inspiration. " I think I see one . . . ." And 
continuing, after a moment's reflection, " But no, she would 
never consent . . . ." 

" ' « Who, the Countess ? " 

" * " No, Mademoiselle Isabella." 

" ' ** I don't understand, tell me what you mean, my dear 

" * " The astonishing resemblance between your sister and 
yourself .... almost the same height, .the same accent . . . ." 


" * " I fear my plan is not practicable. ..." 

"*"Tell me all the same, Bertha " 

"*"What I thought of is* this: I would say that I was going 
to be married; I would leave the Countess, to be led to the 


altar in some distant village The Landgrave, I believe, has 

sufficient confidence in me to take a new lady's maid upon 
my reconmiendation; Mademoiselle Isabella would present her- 
self, be accepted, and ten days after. ..." 

" * " Ten days after, what would happen ? " I cried, in soul- 
ful accents. 

"'"Cannot you guess, monsieur le comte? Ten days after, 
you would replace your sister." 

" ' " Indeed, the plan is But no, I could never propose to 

Isabella to take part in such an intrigue. . . . She is so chaste, 
so pure. . . . no, it is impossible. ..." 

" * At that moment. Bertha's uncle came to fetch his niece to 
breakfast, and carried her away with him, making excuses for 
interrupting our conversation, to which the worthy man perhaps 
attributed a very different motive. 

"'Hardly had your waiting-maid departed, when the foliage 
on my right opened out, and Isabella appeared. . . . She seemed 
excited, and even troubled, and her features were discomposed. 

"'"Chance." said she," "has made me a witness of your 
conversation with Bertha, and I do not share your opinion of 
the plan which she proposes." 

"*"What! have you overheard us, Isabella...." 

" * " Yes, brother, and I know that you love the Countess 
of Norkitten. I know that a sister's friendship is not sufficient 
for your happiness. And as this wiU always be the object of my 
dearest aspirations, I am very glad to be able to forward it, in 
a different way than by a sentiment whose powerlessness is 
to-day revealed to me for the first time. ..." And my sweet 
sister continued, with a sigh: "You are mistaken, Stanislas; 
I am willing to assist in the execution of Bertha's proposal. I 
wish to remain ignorant," she added, lowering her eyes, "of how 
you mean to realize the happiness which you expect from the 
Countess. Perhaps I shall be offending God by furthering your 
love. . . . but if I can prevent it from making you unhappy, I 
am ready to devote myself." 

" ' And the excellent Isabella pronounced these last words as 
though she had said: "I will sacrifice myself." I will never 
tell any but you alone, my Julie, how my innocent sister, not 
knowing the limits at which a sister's love should end, surren- 


dered herself to it with all the power of her soul, without per- 
ceiving that it was being mingled with the passion of youth 

A fatal leaning, of which she must always be left in ignorance. 

" * We sent for Bertha to my room, and here we arranged the 
details of the bold plot which we proposed to carry out. I 
was drawn towards you with so much ardour that I had not 
the courage to combat my sister's generous resolution. And 
moreover, I said to myself, so as with a specious reasoning to stifle 
the idea that the sacrifice I was accepting from my sister was 
too great, " In this way we shall live apart, and the poor child 
will escape the martj'rdom of a love which in her case alone is 
a crime. I shall be able to arrest her virtue at the edge of 
the precipice whose slop>e I myself would otherwise perhaps 
follow with sufficient alacrity to fall with her " 

** * As to the consequences of my adventure, I took no heed 
of them. There is no more to tell you, dear Countess: you 
know how I came to be here.** 

" * Yes, dear count,* said I to that madman, whom I already 
loved with the fondness of passion, so many were the good 
qualities which I had discovered in him during the twelve hours 
we had spent together. *Your resemblance to your sweet sister 
is too perfect to allow of the discovery of our dangeroas secret ; 
but how do you prop)ose to play, even for a few days, the difficult 
part of a lady's maid .... If during the daytime Norkitten were 
to surprise you committing one of those pieces of awkwardness 
which always betray one sex in the clothes of the other " 

" * Well then, Julie, fly with me .... We will cross the seas ; 
we will go to the New World to live for each other alone.* 

** * I should think the proposal most alluring, had I not more 
experience than you, very young Stanislas that you are. The 
bark of love is too light, you see, to load it thus with all one's 
fortunes. To begin with, I have paid very dearly for the ad- 
vantages attached to the rank to which the Landgrave of Nor- 
kitten has raised me. It Is only natural that I should seek to 
preserve them, not at the price of the happiness which I owe 
to your affection, but in endeavouring to conciliate the two. 
And would you yourself, count, abandon to her inexperience, 
to the dangers that surround her, that dear sister who loves 


you so well? No, you owe her your support, and I will add 
that you almost owe it to me to find her a husband ; for in this 
philosophic age, I should be almost as jealous of the outbursts 
of your ardent spirit as of the dear child's candid self-surren- 
der .... And so we will have no elopement, my Httle count, 
no love in exile in the savannahs of America .... Let us enjoy 
the present with prudence, and seek an issue for a less dan- 
gerous futiure; but let us only make to our love those sacrifices 
which do not imperil our destinies!' 

"During the following six months, the chaplain often civilly 
reproached me with the carelessness with which I now applied 
myself to my Latin studies. The worthy old man was proud 
of having assisted me to complete my rhetoric, but he was in 
despair lest I should escape the attractions of philosophy. I 
did not tell him that the study of Polish now engrossed me far 
more than that of Latin, and that, moreover, I had encountered 
a philosopher much more knowing than he in that branch of 
the science which I was most interested in cultivating. 

"As to Norkitten, his preoccupation with his military lucu- 
brations was such that four days would sometimes elapse without 
his setting foot in my chamber, and I was able to roam 
freely about the Castle without attracting his attention. Stanislas 
and I profited by our liberty to take long walks in the country. 
We often met Isabella, who, in order to be nearer to her brother, 
had installed herself in a long-deserted old castle which she 
owned on the banks of the Pregel. But it was not long before 
we perceived that the angelic creature's health was rapidly giving 
way. She had a little chronic cough, which made us fear that 
her lungs were attacked, and our sad presentiments were soon 
confirmed. One day Isabella did not appear at the meeting- 
place which we had appointed. Stanislas' distress was extreme ; 
but the sun was about to set, and we were obliged to return 
to the Castle, lest we should arouse the saspicions which still 
slumbered in the Landgrave's breast. . . . Delvinski passed a 
restless night : his sister's name was constantly on his lips. Had 
I been ignorant till then of Isabella's more than sisterly love. 

my lover's indiscreet dreams would have revealed it to me 

I feared that this primitive love was shared by Stanislas, and 
told him so with tears in my eyes and sobs in my voice. I 


was no longer in love in the manner of the little Julie, the dancer 
of the Thiitre Nicolet, who consoled herself with Diable 
the tight-rope dancer for Leonard the hair-dresser*s infidelities. 
My love, from being the mere caprice of former years, had been 
refined into a sentiment. Stanislas succeeded in persuading me 
that I still occupied the first place in his heart. But his distress 
as to his sister's health continued; and my sham waiting-maid 
obtained the Count's permission to go and visit a sick relation 
living at some leagues from the Castle. 

" What I am now about to tell you, Leonard, I did not hear 
from Delvinski until long after we had quitted Prussia. He found 
his sister in bed, and dying. She threw a haggard look towards 
the door as he entered ; and when she s|w that he was alone, 
a faint smile appeared upon her lips. . . . 

" ' Ah, there you are at last, Stanislas,' said Isabella, in a dying 
voice, holding out a feverish hand to her brother. 'There you 
are. . . . and without the other one. . . . No one at least will 
dispute with me the happiness of gazing at your features during 
the last hour of my life. . . . An hour is saying too much. . . . 
I shall not keep you as long as that from Julie. . . . But tell 
me, tell me, Stanislas, she is not there ? When my soul leaves 
my body, she will not be there to cover with her kisses the lips 
on which I long to breathe out that soul which belonged to 
you. . . . Stanislas, the time for cruel eflforts is past. ... It was 
they that killed me ; now that I am dying they will surely leave 
me free to utter the thoughts so long pent up in my poor heart. . . . 
I know how great is the sin which I have been committing 
for four years, without knowing it, and but a week, consciously. . . . 

" ' Seven days ago, Stanislas, you were to meet me at the 
end of the park of Norkitten. I arrived later than you. You 
were waiting for me. . . , and you were not waiting alone,* said 
Isabella, increasing the volume of her voice, while a bright 
flame shot from her glance. * I approached noiselessly . . . you 
did not hear me .... I learnt to distinguish between the love 
of a mistress and that of a sister .... Stanislas, I knew from 
that moment that it was the first which devoured my breast. . . . 
and that is why I am dying .... God, who damns me for all 
eternity, has at least taken pity on the remainder of my sad 
life : He has cut it short . . . . ' 


" * Sister ! Angel of goodness, of gentleness, of resignation ! ' 
cried Stanislas, bursting into tears. 

" * Do not speak of angels, brother ! See, see, look at that 
demon .... there, quite close to my bed .... listen to his 
hideous laugh, see how he opens his black wings to seize me. 
Ah ! come, it is time, come and receive my soul . . . . ' 
And drawing her brother towards her, the dying girl glued her 
mouth to his. Then pushing Stanislas** head back, as though 
to find a passage for her last gasp, she murmured these fearful 
words : * I die regretting that I was never yours . . . .* Count 
Delvinski rose ; his sister was dead. 

*' Stanislas abandoned himself to the most violent grief. He 
did not appear at I^rkitten for three days: on the fourth he 
returned in deep mourning. But while he was away, an event 
had taken place which had diverted my attention from a 
prolonged absence which would, in any other circiunstance, have 
been more than I could bear without extreme sorrow. On the 
very day of Stanislas* departure, my husband had wandered 
away from the Castle alone, dreaming of the formation of a 
line of battle. Abandoning himself wholly to his strategical 
meditations, he walked at random, perhaps calculating the depth 
of an attacking column, which prevented him from observing 
the depth of a precipice which he was approaching. At 
last he instinctively perceived it, but it was too late. The 
hapless Count of Norkitten rolled from rock to rock, down to 
the bottom of the abyss, where he broke his head. Two 
peasants, who had seen him disappear before they were able to 
warn him of his danger, with difficulty descended into the 
deserted quarry down which he had fallen, extricated him with 
still greater difficulty, and brought him back to the Castle, 
bleeding and devoid of consciousness. 

"The Landgrave had given me no happiness; but he had 
been kind to me and generous, and I felt deeply moved when 
I saw him in this piteous state. While mounted expresses flew 
to Gumbinnen, Elbing and even Koenigsberg to bring doctors 
back to Norkitten, a valet with some knowledge of sui^gery, 
who had followed the Count through his campaigns, brought 
out all his surgical science in order to apply a first dressing to 
the terrible wound he had received on his head ; but trepanning 


was necessary, and the faithful servant lacked instruments as 
well as knowledge for this operation. 

"My poor husband suffered horribly. I had no thought but 
of compassion for him, and Stanislas would have met with a 
bad reception just then. During the night, four doctors or 
surgeons arrived almost at the same time, and lent the wounded 
man all the benefit of their science. Towards morning he fell 
into a quiet sleep — In my first grief, I did not think of my 
interests, which in the case of the Count's death might be 
jeopardized to the extent of compelling my return to the boards 
of the Opera, provided always that they were willing to admit 
the Landgravine of Norkitten. Up to that time, no disposition 
had been made in my favour by my husband. But what for 
five years he had neglected now presented itself to his thoughts 
as a most urgent necessity. After resting some three hours, 
the Count awoke, called me to his bedside, and told me to 
send forthwith for a notary. A servant went at once to carry 
out this order, and the public oflBcer soon appeared. 

** * I wish to dictate my will to you,* said the Landgrave, with 
absolute calm. 'Write, sir; I shall be brief.* 

"'I am at Your Lordship's orders, but we shall require two 

" * Send for two people whom you know, and let them come 
without delay. Men in good health should not put oflf anything 
till the morrow: how much more essential is it that the dying 
should act upon their first inspiration.' 

"*Ah, Monsieur le Comte!' I cried, in terror. 'Have you 
not heard the unanimous opinion of the doctors, who say that 
you will get well?* 

" * My dear Julie,' replied the Count, with a sad smile, ' the 

doctors think, but I know. In three days I shall be no more 

But,' continued my husband, when the notary had left the room, 
* the time is more than suflBcient to repair the only serious fault 

with which I have to reproach myself My conduct towards 

you has been that of a tyrant. I gave you a brilliant and titled 
existence, and thought that I had the right to expect firom you 

in return the most real sacrifices I deserved to be deceived : 

if I have not been so, it was through indifference on your 
part, for generosity in such a case would have been too simple : 


revenge would have presented itself with such a good grace.' 

" * Calm yourself, my friend/ said I, in a voice of sorrow 
which was in no way afifected, and which alone prevented me 
from bursting into laughter at this praise of my simplicity. 'I 
never complained of my lot What you call t>Tanny was in my 
eyes a love which flattered my pride. I have fulfilled my duties 
through affection for you, my dear husband, and I have not for 
one moment felt hurt by a bond which I cherished.' 

"You see, Monsieur Leonard, that I had profited by my 
reading and my studies. I had just made the Count a speech 
that would have done honour to a Macchiavelli. 

"'What sublime virtue! Another would have felt the burden 
of the chain: you consented only to see the gold with which 
each link was covered.' 

" The notary with his two witnesses came in time to interrupt 
a conversation which I was sustaining with difficulty. It is no 
easy thing to improvise a scene of this kind. 

" * The document which I am about to dictate to you, sir, 
will not be a long one,* said the Landgrave. ' Are you ready ?* 

" * Yes, Monsieur le Comte.* 

" * Then write down : " I bequeath all my worldly possessions, 
my estates, forests, pastures, castles, manors, monies, jewels, 
securities, goods and chattels to Julie Niebert, Countess and 
Landgravine of Norkitten, in reward for her faithful afiection, 
her virtue, and the kind cares which she has lavished upon 
me; leaving the said Countess full and entire liberty to reward 
according to the inspiration of her heart the good and loyal 
servants who served me before our marriage, and who have 
served both of us since. 

" ^ " I desire that this my will, as referring to the above-men- 
tioned legacy, shall be fully executed, without any diversion in 
favour of whomsoever; I never having knouTi the affection of a 
kinsman, and not desiring to favour the greed of those who 
never fail to be present at a rich man's death." 

" * Pray formulate, master notar}', the preamble and the closing 
phrases of this document. Wliat you have written down is my 
unchangeable will.' 

"Throughout that day, the Count's condition supported the 
expectations of the doctors. The night passed fairly well. But 


at daybreak the terrible symptom known as 'coma' declared 
itself, and I soon read upon the face of the surgeon who wat- 
ched by the bedside that progress was not being maintained. 
A consultation took place, the result of which was that the 
doctors decided to warn me that my husband would not live 
through the day. 

''A few moments after this terrible communication, Stanislas 
returned, dressed in mourning for his sister. His gloomy apparel 
revealed to me the tragic cause of his prolonged absence. 

** * Two days ago it was your sister,' I whispered to him. 
^To-day it is the Count of Norkitten.* 

" * I learnt yesterday the catastrophe which has taken place,' 
replied Delvinski, in slow and solemn tones. ' Ah ! what strange 
events are contained in destiny's breast!' 

" Overcome with his grief, Stanislas stood by my side at the 
head of the bed. Norkitten did not at first see my pretended 
waiting-maid ; but towards mid-day the comatose paroxysm sub- 
sided a little, and the Count recognized her, and saluted her 
with a little nod of his head, saying in a faint voice, 'Good- 
morning, Isabella.' Just then I perceived in my husband's look 
the expression of a wearying surprise. I easily guessed the 
reason : it was Isabella's heavy mourning. I bent over the 
Landgrave's ear, and whispered, *She has lost her sister.' 

"*Tell her I am going to see her,' replied Norkitten, with a 
heart-rending smile, * and that I will gladly take a message to her.' 

''At this sinister philosophical suggestion, which Stanislas 
overheard, I saw him shiver. 

" Meantime, the sim had almost run its course, without any 
perceptible change for the worse having taken place in the 
Count .... We heard five strike in the belfry-tower .... 

" ' One more hour past,' said the Count, in fairly clear accents. 
-' But the next . . . .' And his lips endeavoured to articulate the 
rest of the sentence, without succeeding in making it heard. 

" The setting sun had reached the level of the crenulated 
wall which faced the room in which we were, and darted down, 
between two turrets, an oblique ray, which p>enetrated through 

a tall casement, and lit up the dying features of my husband 

I was about to draw the curtains of the bed when : 

'* ' No, my dear Julie,' said the Count, ' do not deprive me 


of the last visit of my mighty friend. Do you not see that 
he has come to pay me his adieux?' 

" * And I too have come to pay you my adieux, Count of 
Norkitten,' cried in a resounding voice a man who threw open 
the door of a closet. * Your disinherited nephew has come to 

do you a service worthy of your affection for him Ah, 

Landgrave of Norkitten, Julie Niebert has well deserved to be 
made your universal legatee ! Know that Isabella, her waiting- 
maid, is none other than Count Stanislas Delvinski .... * 

" * Count Stanislas Delvinski ! ' cried the dying man» raising 
himself convulsively to a sitting posture .... And then he fell 
heavily back upon his pillow .... The Count of Norkitten had 
ceased to live. 

" Meantime Stanislas leapt into the closet to seize the villain 
who had hastened the Count's death. But an open casement 
and a ladder placed against a trellis in the garden deprived 

Delvinski of all hope of catching the contemptible fugitive 

He returned to the room with an uncertain step .... I showed 
him the Count's lifeless body, and murmured in a voice drowned 
with sobs : 

" * The terrible secret has gone to Heaven with him ' 

" Stanislas sank into a seat, and abandoned himself to a silent 
reverie — As for me, I fell upon my knees at the head of the 
bed and prayed. But before long I rose firmly, and addressing 
Stanislas, I exclaimed: 

"* Count, you must leave me You and I escorting the 

funeral bier of the Count of Norkitten it would be horrible !' 

" * I understand. Countess. I leave you ; but I will watch 
over you — You have much to fear from that nephew and his 
disappointed greed When shall I sec you again, Julie ?' 

'* ' Stanislas, at this moment in the presence of that corpse, 
how can I find an answer to such a question?' 

" Delvinski left me without repl>'ing. In the evening I received 
a billet from him, informing me that he had encountered the 
nephew roaming in the park, challenged him, and shot him to 

the heart. *I shall return to my castle on the Vistula I 

will await you there.' 

"The count had to wait a whole month, while I devoted 
myself to all the duties prescribed by my position, and to those 


which Norkitten had bequeathed to me I caused my name 

to be blessed both for what I did in fulfilling my husband's 
last wishes, and for what I added by way of benefits of my 
own accord. Not one of my servants, not one of the poor in 
the town of Norkitten, but had his share in my generous gifts. 

" One evening, the sound of carriage-wheels was heard beneath 
Count Delvinski*s windows it was the widow of the Land- 
grave of Norkitten — Stanislas knew that it was I by the 
soimd of my footstep. He rushed to meet me, and received his 
fond Julie in his arms, drunk with love 

" In a week's time, we set out for Paris. We had decided 
that it was essential that we should try to drown in the whirl- 
pool of that noisy capital the traces of an adventure which had 
already been spread abroad in Prussia, and had not remained 
free from scandal. Soon after our arrival in France, we heard 
that the German imagination, so bent upon the marvellous, had 
added to our story all the phantasy of a legend, in which good 
and evil sprites played their parts, with spontaneous illuminations 
of all the windows of the Castle of Norkitten, ghosts walking 
upon the battlements, sounds of chains repeated nightly at the 
mystic hour, and the prolonged tolling of the belfry bell, without 
any human assistance. 

" It was impossible to return to a country where the coimt 
and I had acquired so deplorable a celebrity. We resolved to 
sell all our possessions in Prussia and Poland, and to live for 
ever on the smiling banks of the Seine. The sale of all our 
property produced the enormous capital of three millions, which 
we proposed to. invest in a common fund. We determined, 
moreover, that in order to remain lovers, we should not become 
husband and wife, but that for the sake of decorum we should 
have two separate residences. This was a more than sufficient 
precaution to satisfy the susceptibilities of a none too scrupulous 
Court, and one hundred and fifty thousand livres a year should 
suflBce to keep up this two-fold establishment, which for four or 
five years was, in reality, no more than one. 

"Our love, you will agree, my dear Leonard, was a vigorous 
growth. It resisted five years of cohabitation in Paris, amid all 
the temptations of frivolity and inconstancy ! Our affection 
obtained a reputation for longevity which covered us with ridi- 

VOL. II. 9 


cule ; and at the commencement of 1 786, Stanislas and I recog- 
nized at the same time that it was no longer possible to keep up 
this eccentricity without becoming a b}nvord to society. This 
seemed to us so self-evident, that the count had since the 
last fortnight taken to adoring a charming dancer at the Opera, 
while I had fallen madly in love with a young captain in the 
Queen's Dragoons. . . . And so we agreed to separate on our 
roads through life, to divide our joint property, and no longer 
to visit each other unannounced. 

"Till then we had neglected to purchase any landed estate, 
in spite of our notary's repeated protestations. The result was 
that when we came to divide our goods, we found that we had 
been living at the rate of one hundred thousand instead of fifty 

thousand crowns a year We promised the worthy notary 

to be more economical in future. 

" Our amicable separation was celebrated by a great dinner 
which the count gave me, and which, after a riotous evening 
with our common friends, ended, will you believe me, with all 

the fond luxury of a first night of love If you wish to leara 

the value of a thing, deprive yourself of it. . . . The next morning 
our attachment had redescended to the dull level of friendship. 
We swore to lend one another at all times, in every place, our 
mutual assistance, should fortune betray us, or any disaster come 
knocking at our door. . . . 

" Four years passed without my seeing Delvinski, except on a 
casual meeting at a ball, at the play, at the Tuileries : occasions 

upon which one smiles from a distance and waves a hand 

God ! how those four years were spent on both sides ! But I 
will pass over the episodes of a life of pleasure, and come to a 
certain morning when my notary walked into my room, wearing 
on his features an expression of unaccustomed gravity. 

** * Madame,' said he, ' I regret to have to give you bad 
news after so many times in vain endeavouring to make you 
listen to the counsels of prudence. But the accounts which I 
hold in my hand, and which I now place on your toilet-table, 
will show you that the money you left in my charge was ex- 
hausted more than six months ago . . . .' 

" * Heavens, monsieur, what are you saying ? And how have 
I been able to live since then?' 


** * You have been living upon the capital of M. le Comte 
Delvinski, who authorized me to pay you until further orders 
any sums that you might draw upon me for.' 

** * O best of friends ! ' 

** * An excellent friend indeed, for M. le Comte is no less 
ruined than yourself, Madame. And now there is this new 
thing : Count Delvinski has withdrawn from my charge the little 
capital that remained to him, and has just set out for Poland, 
where he hopes to revive the cause of his nation, favoured by 
the revolutionary movement which burst out among us last year. . . . 
A common whim in the lives of men with active imaginations: 
no sooner are they ruined, than they become conspirators.' 

** * Well and good ; if Count Delvinski restores the Kingdom 
of Poland, I am sure he will think of me .... But meanwhile, 
I must be able to support myself in Paris . . . .' 

••'If you at last acknowledge that order is an indispensable 
element of preservation from ruin, the contents of your jewel- 
case and the furniture of this house, which you were not will- 
ing to purchase, may yet place you beyond the reach of 

" My jewels, yes ; but the furniture, no : I have renewed it recently 
in exchange for some old Pompadour furniture, which disgraced 
me, and I owe a considerable difference on the exchange .... 
Pray, then, monsieur, do me yet one more service ; see my 
upholsterer, and try to persuade him to take back his things, 
so that at least I shall have nothing more to pay him.' 

" ' I will make that my business ; the rogue will make a large 
enough profit without asking you for any more . . . .' 

" * One more favour, O virtuous notary. I should be cheated 
if I sold my diamonds myself: do not refuse to do so for me.' 

" * I consent ; but only in your presence .... Come, Madame, 
let us examine the jewels, and see what we may hope to realize 
by them.' 

** I went to my secretaire, and returned pale with fright, holding 
in my hand a letter which I passed over to my notary, after 
casting my eyes over it. It was in the hand-writing of the 
captain in the Queen's Dragoons, and ran as follows : 

" * Dear Countess, I make bold to borrow your jewels, some- 


what freely perhaps, but the illustrious name I bear compels 
me in honour to emigrate .... Your diamonds will aid me in 
upholding the cause of the King; and when we drive away from 
his Throne the National rabble which dares to attack the 
prerogatives of the Crown, you will have acquired a good title to 

His Majesty's gratitude No doubt, my dear Countess, you 

will then obtain a tabouret * in the Queen's apartments . . . .' 

"'And meantime, Madame,* cried my notary, in a fiiry, 'that 
titled pickpocket prevents you from having a rush-bottomed 
chair in your own house. ' 
■ "*Well, I should not have thought him capable of it.' 

'**Upon my word, Madame, I admire you. You are com- 
pletely ruined, and you speak of it with the most philosophic 
ease and hilarity.' 

" The next day I called upon Madame T., the artificial-flower 
manufacturer, who had just opened a branch in London. I 
had always been one of her best customers, and she received 
me with that very special graciousness which trades-folk always 
keep in reserve for the purchasers who buy largely and pay 

" * My dear Madame T.,* said I, ' I have come to ask you for 
something very much out of the common.' 

"'What is that, Madame la Comtesse? a dress-trimming of 
roses ? a muslin gown with embroidered flowers ? roses with 
tears of dew ? The last is the very newest thing we have . . . .' 

"'No, no; I know of something newer still: my vocation....' 

"'Aha! has Madame la Comtesse invented a new flower? 
Everything is invented nowadays, even nature.' 

"'I am not thinking of anything of the kind; what I wish to 
ask you for, Madame T., is a seat at one of your work-tables, 
either in London or Paris.' 

" ' Ah, I understand. Madame la Comtesse wishes to learn 
how to make flowers: it is quite the fashion now. ... I have 
a score of pupils in Paris whom I teach what I do not know 
myself. But they insist upon it, and pretend that they can only 
learn anything from me.' 

"'My dear lady, I know how to make flowers as well and 

* A tabouret or stool, eqtiivalent to the right to sit in the Queen's pretence. 


perhaps better than the cleverest of your workwomen, and I 
have come ask you to employ me so that I may earn my 

** * Madame la Comtesse is jesting.' 

"*I am speaking very seriously.' 


** * I am ruined, my dear lady, ruined from garret to basement. 
I had a jewel-case left worth some two hundred thousand livres ; 
but it was wanted to strenghten the King upon his Throne .... 
and they borrowed it ... . without asking my leave, it is true. 
I have nothing left .... nothing but your protection.' 

" * Dear Heaven, you are quite welcome to it. But what is 
he use of a protection which enables you to earn a small crown * 
a day!' 

•* * As much as that, Madame T. ! ' 

" ' And even a little more, if you are an expert* 

" ' I am very expert, and if you wish it, I will invent nature, 
since that is the fashion . . . . But I will beg you to take me 
into your London house, if possible .... You can imagine, the 
change might appear sudden to my friends in Paris.' 

** ' I am leaving this day week for England, and will take 
you with me, Madame la Comtesse . . . . ' 

** * No, you will take with you Julie, the flower-maker.* 

" I had been here some six months ; Madame T., delighted 
with my intelligence, had placedmeat the head of her work-shop, 
when one evening I was told that a gentleman was asking for 
me in the parlour. I went downstairs. 

" It was Count Stanislas Delvinski ! He had not succeeded 
in restoring the Polish throne, and he had come to ask me to 
share my fortune with him by giving him a post as cutter in 
the work-rooms under my charge." 

* A small crown was equal to three livres or francs ; a large crown {groi 
icu) to six livres. 


The emigrants in London — Their industry, artifices, and intrigues — ^The marquis's 
trunk — The inventory of a treasure. 

The errand that had brought me to London was now completed, 
and in March 1792, I prepared for my departure to the banks 
of the Rhine, where I was to carry out the Queen's wishes. 
It was important that Her Majesty should know the characters, 
habits and even the occupations of the emigrants collected at 
that spot. This was indispensable in order that she might know 
exactly how great a reliance might be placed upon the promises 
of those nobles, and if their assistance could really be reckoned 
on for the restoration of the monarchy in France. 

The information I was able to transmit to the Queen from 
London was not, alas! of a very reassuring nature. The noble 
fugitives did appear to me to interest themselves the least 
in the world in the Throne and the altar whose names figured 
so regularly in their official correspondence. I saw them only 
endeavouring to make their present circiunstances as comfortable 
as possible, by means of every imaginable intrigue and artifice. 
London had suddenly become a sort of universal academy, in 
which the more or less titled Frenchmen app>ointed themselves 
professors or virtuosi, driven by the struggle for existence. Here 
a marquis opened a philharmonic society ; yonder an intellectual 
concert was organized by a knight of Malta. In St. James's 
Street was a fencing academy, under the management of a 
brigadier-general, while a drawing-school prospered but slowly 
under the direction of a captain in the navy. . . . More than 
once I came across a certain countess, around whom three years 
before had flutered all the butterflies of the CEil-de-Boeuf, hur- 
rying along to give a private piano-lesson in town, her pretty 



feet almost touching the pavement through her worn shoes, and 
her solitary black velvet gown splashed with mud. . . . But 
sadder still, this countess, whom I had known so coquettish, so 
capricious, so bewildering with her fickle passions, who used to 
Ring a sigh to her adorers as one flings an alms to a beggar, 
was now, it was said, reduced to abandoning herself to the 
caresses, well mingled with hiccoughs, of the " milords " deprived 
of their favourite French dancers. . . . Ah, what a frightful 
extremity ! 

Let me tell you a story of an artifice of which Madame T. 
was the dupe, not many days before my first departure from 

A Breton marquis, with a pedigree as old as the rocks of 
Morbihan, came one morning to the famous flower-manufacturer 

with a letter of recommendation from the Princesse d*Heimin 

The noble emigrant announced himself as the Marquis de 
Bellemour. He had a handsome figure, a gallant air, and a well- 
turned leg. Had Madame T. been less willing to oblige her 
countrymen, she would have considered that these qualities were 
sufficient to enable their possessor to become the princess's 
protege, and that the latter would not have troubled her head 
about any further guarantees. But the worthy lady took no 
thought of this consideration, and asked the marquis in what 
way she could be of service to him. 

•* There are two things which would save my life, madame, and 
in these the princess is no longer in a position to assist me — " 

" Name them, monsieur." 

" First, madame, I am in the most urgent need of a loan of 
fifty guineas, with which to discharge a debt which admits of no 
delay. And secondly, and this is the more important of the 
two, you would be doing me the most unspeakable service if 
you would cause to be sent over from Nantes a tnmk lying at 
the carriers' in that town, for which this receipt was handed 
to my noble father. This trunk, Madame T., contains all my 
family diamonds: they are worth over two hundred thousand 
livres, and that is why I am appealing to your kind assistance — 
If the trunk were addressed to me direct, the patriots would 
confiscate it. It must be sent to me through the intermediary 
of a business house you understand, Madame T." 


•* Perfectly, monsieur le marquis." 

** So soon as the trunk arrives," continued the elegant French- 
man, turning on his heel in his best Court manner, " I will repay 
you the fifty guineas which you will be good enough to lend 
me, and I shall be your debtor for life." 

** Really, monsieur, it is not worth so much gratitude as 
that;" and turning to her cashier, Madame T. told him to hand 
fifty guineas to monsieur le marquis. ** I will write to a merchant 
whom I know at Nantes to hurry the dispatch of your trunk/ 
continued the too confiding lady, "and I hope that by the 
direct sea road you will receive your property within a fortnight." 

In fourteen days, the famous trunk was unloaded from a 
merchant-vessel at the foot of the ancient Tower of London, 
and carried forthwith to Madame T.'s establishment The sea 
had been rough during the crossing, and as the aforesaid famous 
trunk contained, in addition to the Bellemour family diamonds, 
a precious Stradivarius violin, valued at thirty thousand francs, 
which was liable to injury from the damp, they hastened to 
inform M. le marquis at the address he had given of the arrival 
of his treasure, so that he might no lose no time in coming to 
open it. The French nobleman had left for the country; but 
he had left behind him a letter addressed to Madame T., and 
authorizing her to open the trunk herself. 

This task, having regard to the diamonds contained in the 
trunk, was a very delicate one! But supposing the Stradivarius 
were spK)ilt! Madame T. therefore acted with discretion, and 
begged Madame la Princesse d*Hennin, the marquis's friend, 
to be so good as to call upon her, explaining the reason why 
she desired her presence. Eight or nine other members of the 
emigration were convoked for this interesting opening ceremony. 
In the presence of so goodly a number of witnesses, all the good 
lady*s scruples vanished. The trunk was opened — and here 
is an exact inventory of the articles found in it: 

liTres torn 

A Mirecourt violin, * cracked and soulless, valued at 3 10 

A pair of boot-trees 2 5 

Carried forward ... 5 15 

^ * Mirecourt is a little town in the Vosges, where musical instrumenti are 
manufactured on a cheap and wholesale scale. 


livres sous 

Brought forward ... 5 15 

A sky-blue tafifety coat, of French cut, having seen 
at least eight months' wear i 10 

Two pairs of nankeen breeches, which have been 
cleaned from sixty to seventy times i „ 

A sort of walnut dressing-case, containing six pots 
of p>omade and two almost empty pots of rouge . . i 5 

Item one pair of false moustachios, one false front 
and three wigs : together „ 15 

At the bottom of the trunk, twenty-two comedy 
parts, weighing three pounds, at three sous the pound „ 9 

A miniature representing a group composed of a 
man and a woman, valued by Madame la Princesse 
d'Hennin, who undertakes to dispose of it as a model, at 3 15 

Total . . . 14 9 

And thus Madame T. was plundered to the tune of some 
fifty two guineas by M. le Marquis de Bellemour, who was no 
more than a mere play-actor, who had gone abroad to follow 
his art, with certain variations. 

" My loss is nothing to speak of," said the worthy soul to 
the princess ; " but I advise Your Highness to find out more in 
future about the people you take under your protection . . . ." 

" I must confess, " replied Her Highness, roguishly, " that I 
only knew this one under the most favourable circimistances." 

And the fine lady took her leave, not forgetting to pay 
Madame T. a very flattering compliment upon the freshness of 
her wreaths and bouquets. 


I leave London — Lovers' rorrcspondcnce — Honorary paternity — Commencement 
of the war— M. le Comte d'Artois' head-quarters — His Royal Higfaneat's archiyes — 
The sword of Catherine H. 

I LEFT London in the end of March, 1792, and embarked at 
Deal for Ostend, where I landed after a ten hours' crossing. 

My object now was to commence a series of communications 
to the Queen up>on the habits of the emigration, and I may 
begin by saying that there was no lack of information awaiting 
me at Coblentz, Cologne and the surrounding districts. I even 
gathered some of such a nature that I refrained from transmit- 
ting it to Her Majesty. The events that had occurred in her 
life since 1789 had quite changed her character. The picture 
of the oddities of the age now no longer amused, but angered 
her. Yet in the observations which I was able to make during 
mv stav on the Rhine, there was a certain moral or inunoral 
strain which I should be sorr}' to see omitted entirely from my 
souvenirs, especially as it may possess some slight grain of 
interest for the historian. 

Discretion in love was never a virtue of my countr3rmeo. 
During my sojourn among the emigration I used to receive at 
third, and sometimes even at second hand, many truly touching 
details of correspondence. Here, for instance, is a copy of a 
letter with which M. le Comte de Jamac, a general officer in 
the army of M. le Comte d'Artois, amused his friends before 
lighting his pipe with it: 

"Aix, Friday, May 5, 17Q2. 

** Will you soon return, to trample on the patriots and fling 
thcni into all the prisons of PVance, if indeed there are enoi^gh 
to hold them all? 

*• But do you especially, my love, my hfe, my joy, return 



promptly. How happy shall I be to have you by my side once 
more ! I long to spoil you for a whole month, to make you forget 
all your hardships in my arms. Take care of your health, and 
remember that there waits for you a very loving, very yielding, 
very obedient woman, who would be hurt were she deceived in 
her expectations. 

** And meantime let us be content to love one another in 
imagination. I send thousands and thousands of kisses to my 
dearest chick. Be moderate, and keep a guard on your inflam- 
mable nature ! You know what I mean ..... I want all for 
myself, and will brook no sharing with another .... 

"You speak of giving up your horse. That might tire you. 
I forbid you to economize in that matter. I want you to come 
back strong and well: I shall make no allowances!" 

When you read that letter, you are not surprised to see that 
it is dated from Aix and in the month of May. In fair Pro- 
vence beauty's springtime is a burning summer, which sometimes 
even commences in the winter .... Zounds, Monsieur le Comte 
de Jamac! it was very well for your loving correspondent to 
propose to make you forget your hardships; but your fatigues! 
Well, as the Princes* army did not succeed in flinging the pa- 
triots into the prisons of France, we may presume that our 
ardent Proven9ale was driven to content herself long with love 
in imagination .... And I think the count must have been 
pretty well convinced of this, when he entertained his friends 
with the love-letters of his brown-haired mistress. 

If the ladies left behind in France showed themselves 
excessively affectionate towards their emigrant lovers, those who 
were themselves living in exile from France were not always so 
careful to keep faith with the husbands or lovers whose adven- 
turous destiny they shared. M. de Montchal, a Knight of Malta 
in the Princes* army, received a letter which bore no signature, 
but which was generally attributed, by the light of circumstantial 

evidence, to Madam L . . . . de M y. It was dated 

from Liege. This letter adds so original, so novel a page to 
the history of love, that I have no hesitation in copying it in 
its entirety into my souvenirs. It is a faithful duplicate of the 
rough draft left by the writer in the grate in her room at Liege. 


" I am writing to you with all confidence, my dear chevalier, 
te beg you to do me an important service. I am so sure of 
your friendship that I do not believe you can refuse me. I 
told you at Aix-la-Chapelle about my misfortune. You were 
very sympathetic, and gave me the most touching proofis of your 
attachment, with the result that mine for you was very greatly 
augmented. I am now much more unhappy than when you 
saw me this summer: I am in the most critical position imaginable. 
I have to go to Brussels immediately, because my means do 
not permit me to leave my son Theodore any longer at college, 
and the child would be left helpless in the street if I were not 
at Brussels when his term is over. I am therefore obliged to 
leave here, and to complete my misfortune I shall be obliged 
to take with me an unfortunate child to which I gave birth 
this day month. They refuse to take charge of it here during 
my absence, and I cannot allow my son (the one at Brussels) 
to die of hunger. Yet this would be his fate if I were to 
abandon him; and although I detest his father (a monster of 
a husband, who had the pretension that he alone should enjoy 
his wife), his son is none the less dear to me .... Poor little 
man! He is not the cause of my misfortune, and his own 
wretchedness makes me cherish him and increases my fondness 
for him. 

" That is the awful position in which I am placed. I have 
to drag a miserable child about with me, and I must reveal 
to my sister a secret which I never intended that she should 
know, but which it is now impossible that she should not become 
acquainted with, since it is only through her that I can find 
a nurse. This piece of news will come upon my sister as a 
thunder-clap ; she will lament over me and that poor little creature. 
Then will follow remonstrances and reproaches; for she is 
excessively pious. I must needs endure her anger ; there is no 
way of avoiding it, and I must resign myself to listening 
patiently to all she has to say. My child's life depends upon it 

""But it is essential that my sister should not know that my 
pregnancy dates back to Turin. When we arrived at the Thai, 
she rallied me about you, because she saw how eager I was 
to see you again; and were she to know that I was then 
already two months with child, she would be furious at my 

CHAPTER Xin 141 

having two lovers at the same time (thai sister had evidently 
not lived at Court), Far from welcoming me under such circum- 
stances, she would indignantly drive me away .... Dear chevalier, 
there are things which cannot be told on paper; moreover, if I 
wTote them to you, all these details would only weary you. I 
will tell you all when I see you; but I must warn you that if 
my sister drives me to bay and compels me to name the father 
of my child, which I will try to prevent her from doing as long 
as I can, I must tell her that it is you, my dear chevalier; and 
after all, it would be only a slight shifting of circumstances. 

"This cannot matter to you, my dear chevalier. You will 
never have to undergo the smallest annoyance by consenting to 
what I desire, and you will be extricating from a great embar- 
rassment a mother in tears, who is at her wits* end, and who 
will permit you, if you have to suffer the least offensive pleasantry 
on my account, to produce as proofs this letter and the little 
draft note which I enclose you. 

*' In this way you will be pledged to nothing, except to write 
me still more affectionate letters than those which you have sent 
me hitherto, to address me in the singular, and in a word, to 
pretend to be the father of my child. This little stratagem will 
do nobody harm, and will on the contrary procure me infinite 
peace of mind. Why should you not consent? why should you 
refuse to do this little service to one who is as devoted to you 
as I am? 

** Charles (so there were three of them !) would have agreed to 
this with the best grace in the world, had not the period been 
too remote for possibility; but there is nothing to be said in 
your case, and I might well have been the mother of your son, 
had I not been already burdened with a load on my arrival in 
Germany. * 

" When you have weighed all these reasons, you will, I am 
sure, be happy to oblige me. Let me hear from you speedily, 
my dear chevalier, and relieve me from the mortal distress which 
your silence causes me. I constantly fear lest I should not know 
what has become of you. You know the tender affection I bear 

'M. de Montchal, eager to prove the capacity for paternity of a Knight of 
Malta, and seeing that Madame L .... de M .... y was " burdened with 
a load,*' had apparently done his best in another quarter. — Author^s Note, 

.j» -■ • 1- . 


you, and I have enabled you to judge of the painful plight I 
am in ... . You so often promised to write to me ! Why, if yoo 
love me, do you torture me so? 

"Adieu, dear chevalier; I embrace you, as I love you, with 
all my heart. My compliments to Charles and to your dear 
papa. Tell La Roche-Aymon that I am vexed with him 
for not writing to me this twelvemonth, although I have sent 
him four letters to the camp .... I will be revenged on him 
when I see him (this gives reason to suppose a fourth tender 
passion). As to the draft letter enclosed, I beg that you will 
copy it and send it to me, and it will be necessary that all the 
rest should be in the same style." 

M. de Montchal was agood-hearted, hospitable and obliging man: 

Des chevaliers maltais tel est Ic caract^re. 

The service demanded of him was a little unusual; but Ma- 
dame L . . . de M . . . y was handsome, she had been loving to 
him, and might be so again, and an old love revived is not to 
be disdained in time of war, although the scarcity of compliant 
beauties may at that time be but little felt. M. de Montchal 
accepted the post of papa honoris causd offered to him by the 
former lady of his thoughts, and copied the draft letter which 
she had sent him, and which ran as follows: 

" I can never express to you, my adorable friend, the joy I 
felt on learning of your happy delivery. You knew the pleasure 
such agreeable news would give me, and you did well to lose no 
time in writing to me. How I thank the Lord for your pre- 
servation! And so it is true that my dear and beloved Muni 
has made me a father . . . Ah, how I love that dear child . . . 
and what happiness for me to have it by you! Take great 
care of it, my dearest one, and have no fear for the future of 
that little being, whom I love and cherish more than I can say. 
Kiss my dear little Gaston heartily for me, and accept a thousand 
and yet a thousand fond kisses and caresses for yourself. Adieu, 
my sweetheart; forgive me for leaving you so quickly to-day, 
but duty calls me away from you. I am leaving for the siege 
of Thion\'ille, which we shall bombard to-night I will give 


you news of the army another time. Adieu, once again. I am 
ever your fond and faithful friend." 

The correspondence between M. de Montchal and Madame 
L . . . de M . . . y continued in this strain for some time. But 
as the latter had foreseen, the chevalier*s comrades greeted the 
news of his paternity as a benevolent action, so much doubt 
did they consider to be cast by the lady's gallantries upon the 
authorship of the work which he had consented to attribute to 
himself. At last in self-defence the chevalier displayed the letter 
in which Gaston's mamma authorized him to reveal the trick to 
which he had lent himself; and it was the divulging of all this 
that completed my initiation into the secret of this extraordinary 

The first war of the Revolution had now begun. The Duke 
of Brunswick, at the head of the Prussian army, held in leading- 
strings (it is the only fitting phrase) the most illustrious, but 
still more undisciplined, cohort known as "the Princes' army," 
and entered French territory on one side, while General 
Clerfayt * attacked it on the other. Thionville, Verdun and 
LiWe were laid siege to . . . 

I had for some months been awaiting M. le Comte 
d'Artois, who was on a journey to St. Petersburg. He returned 
at last, bringing with him a sword with which the £mpress 
Catherine had presented him. His Royal Highness, upon whom 
I waited in a castle in the neighbourhood of Longwy, received 
fne with that charming airiness of manner which he retained 
through life, in misfortune and in prosperity, so long as love and 
money remained at his beck and call. 

"Well, Leonard," said he, "so here you are with the army. 
Do you scorn hair-powder now, and are you longing for the 
smell of gunpowder? It would not surprise me, my lad: the 
King my brother, when he substituted the baton of a marshal 
of France for the stick of cosmetic in your satchel, already 
initiated you into the alarums and excursions of war." 

"Excursions is the word, Monseigneur, and mine, although 

•General Count Clerfayt, 1733 — 1798, commanded an army of 12,000 Austrian 
troops. He won frequent successes over the Republican forces, more especially 
in 1795, when he repulsed three French armies in succession and ended by 
raising the siege of Mayence. 


entrusted to a hair- dresser, would have succeeded, if the King 
had had friends more active to support the movements of the 
Marquis de Bouille." 

His Royal Highness, with a trick which he had retained from 
boyhood, passed his tongue three times over his lips, bit them 
for a second or two, and changed the conversation. 

** Has the Queen given you any message for me ?" asked the 
Prince, pulling on one of his boots, for I had caught him as 
he was getting out of bed. 

"Yes, Monseigneur," I replied, "and if Your Royal Highness 
would grant me a moment's interview in private, I will com- 
municate various matters to you which Her Majesty did not 
think fit to entrust to paper." 

" Leave me, you others," said the prince, turning to the Marquis 
de Digoine and some officers who were present. 

" Has Your Royal Highness no orders to give for attacking 
the party of Blues that showed itself within gunshot this morning ?" 
asked the marquis as he was leaving the room. 

" An order to attack .... you had better ask the Marquis de 
Jm Queuille, my adjutant-general : it is his basiness " 

"Ver}' well, Monseigneur. We hope to cut that bod/ of 
Jacobins into pieces in an hour or two," replied M. de Digoine, 
bringing his heels together and ringing his spurs in the Prussian 
manner. "We took a Redcap in reconnoitring last night. "* 

" Was the Jacobin's head inside ?" asked the Prince, smiling. 

"Yes, Monseigneur," replied the marquis, stolidly .... 

"That is right, gentlemen; those are .successes," said His 
Royal Highness. 

The officers went out. 

" Now, my dear Leonard, speak," continued the Prince, pulling 
on his second boot. 

I gave M. le Comte d'Artois the Queen's messages in full detail. 

"My poor Ixonard," said the Prince, after listening to me 
attentively, " I am really sorrA' the Queen did not send you to 
Monsieur rather than to me : he is so very observant. In order 
to tell Her Majesty all that she wishes to know, it would be 
nc(:es.sar>' to go very laboriously through a vast mass of papers, 
and none of mv suite has the time to busv himself with 
it . . . ." And His Highness showed me two tables placed close 


together and covered with enormous heaps of letters, the greater 
part of which had not been unsealed. " You see there is enough 
there to frighten away the most inveterate rummager .... always 
excepting my brother of Provence .... Oh, he's different : I 
remember, in the time of those damned Notables who drove us 
here, with what delight he used to wade among the petitions, 
remonstrances, supplications, and all the litter of papers with 
which we were in undated. But I have an idea," continued 
the Prince, gaily; "why should not you, Leonard, who are 
only with the army as an amateur, undertake to gather from 
all this correspondence the information which the Court desires ? 
You can follow my staff for a fortnight, with a wagon loaded 
with all that baggage, and when your work is done, you will 
be able to report on it directly to Their Majesties ....** 

" Monseigneur, I will obey Your Royal Highness's com- 

" Well done, Leonard ; you are now promoted to be my secre- 
tary pro tempore .... Tell me, is not my hair a little out of curl ? ** 

"A touch of the comb will put it right." 

And the Prince's secretary pro tempore re-arranged the curls 
of his oiseau royal and covered them with a sprinkling of powder. 
M. le Comte d'Artois next donned, with my assistance, his uniform 
as Colonel-General of the Swiss Guards, and asked for his sword. 

"Which one, Monseigneur?" 

"The Empress Catherine's .... I must be seen wearing it at 
the review . . . ." 

" Will your Royal Highness want to draw it ? I think it sticks 
in the scabbard somewhat." 

" The deuce! .... Here, let us each pull one end, Leonard .... 
I'll take the hilt, you the scabbard . . . Good, here it comes . . . 
I must mount my horse now .... Here are my archives; you 
can take possession, Leonard, this minute." 

The Prince went off, and I availed mj^self of his permission. 

VOL. II. 10 


A letter from Monsieur to Prince Hohenlohe — Warlike letters of tiie emigrants- 
Love-letters — A diplomatic note — Madame de Balby's advice — Monsieur does 
not follow it. 

The first letter I laid my hand upon was the copy of one 
written by Monsieur to Prince Hohenlohe on the 6th of Sep- 
tember 1792. It opens exactly like the speeches His Royal 
Highness used to deliver to his huntsmen in his himting-days 
in the Forest of Senart: 

"Well, Cousin," wrote His Royal Highness, **I am writing to 
Your Highness after thinking over the replies of the garrison of 
Thionville and the effects of our last night's cannonade. We 
cannot conceal from ourselves that those effects are practically 
nil^ and that the few guns expected from Longwy will not be 
able to do much good. To miss capturing Thionville is no great 
thing in itself; but it matters much to public opinion that the 
first place attacked by Your Highnesses army and ours should be 
taken. We can only think of one way of remedying this in- 
convenience, and that is to bring up from Luxemburg four or 
five ten-inch mortars and the same number of twenty-four-inch 
guns, so as to overwhelm the town with bombs and cannon-balls 
and comp>el it to surrender. We shall thus avenge the blood 
of the brave Prince of Waldeck, * and compel the enemy, who 
are daily growing more audacious, to show us proper respect 
Luckner^s f retreat should strengthen our hand. Shall it be 

* Christian Augustus Prince of Waldeck, 1744 — 1798. Leonard speaks of 
him in a note as having been killed beneath tiie walls of Thionville. He loti 
an arm there, and died in Portugal six years later. But tiie impreMion teeniB 
to have prevailed that he was dead, as see Madame de Balbi's letter on p. 153. 

t Nicolas Luckner, a Marshal of France, who passed over to the Rerolatioii, 
and was very handsomely guillotined in 1794. 



said that at the very moment when he is leaving Thionville to its 
own resources, we renounce our efforts to capture that fortress ? 
We beg Your Highness to give prompt orders, and our success 
is assured." 

We know that Prince Hohenlohe gave prompt orders, that 
the ten-inch mortars and the twenty-four-inch guns arrived, and 
that the town was overwhelmed with bombs. But the ** enemy" 
showed no respect. I still remember with what repugnance I 
copied down the word .... The " enemy" were my own fellow- 
countrjonen, and he who thus described them was a French 

The garrison and population of Thionville, commanded by 
the valorous Wimpfen, defended the heap of stones to which 
the town was reduced, and the siege had to be raised. And I 
looked upon Monsieur's letter as an outburst of martial ardour, 
aroused between the dessert and the coffee by one of those 
mighty processes of digestion which send flying to the brain the 
fumes of the generous wines consumed during dinner. His 
Royal Highness must have moved about violently in his chair 
while composing that allocution. 

Both among the packets which still remained sealed, and among 
the heaps of papers which had been piled up unread, I foimd 
a nimiber of letters addressed, to the care of the Prince, to 
gentlemen serving under his orders. It was these especially 
which offered me many curious details, and were characteristic 
of the spirit of the emigration. In one of them, intended for 
the Marquis de Digoine, his fond correspondent, who signed 
herself Minette, spoke thus of the illustrious prisoners of the 

" Religion algne can now sustain the King and his poor 
family. They will doubtless be happier in the next world than 
in this, for they have already passed through their purgatory. 

"Adieu, my friend; accept a kiss from your Minette." 

I decided not to include this document among the evidences 
of devotion which I reported to the Royal Family; but there 
were yet more consoling papers to be found among what the 
Prince called his archives. For instance, Madame Bouverot 
wrote to her husband, an aide^-de-camp to the Due de Villequier : 


" Twenty- two hours on horseback, my poor friend! how I 
pity you! But the remainder of the campaign will be less fati- 
guing, on account of the paved roads and the beds . . . ." 

What could be more charming! A hop, skip and jump to 
conquer the capital, good beds every night, and paved roads 
all the way to Paris, Worthy Madame Bouverot! 

And next came this heroic outburst, this noble transport, a 
sure sign of victory: 

" How we shall make them dance, those scoundrels of tant- 
culotUs," wrote a general officer in the corps commanded by 
M. le Prince de Cond6. "A few days more, and we shall 
have fine times. We have made a few attempts which have not 
proved successful; but the Patriots are cowards at heart, and 
when England, Spain, Russia, the Emperor and Naples come 
to our assistance, we shall see." 

I thought it would be wiser not to let the Queen know of 
this proof of knightly determination .... The paladins of old 
were not used to wait until they were five to one before de- 
scending into the lists. 

"I am longing," exclaimed another emigrant, in a letter 
addressed to M. de Belabre, "I am longing to go and fatten 
myself at the cost of Messieurs the Jacobins, to whom I will 
show no mercy .... I mean to ruin them." 

This gentleman knew his French history: he remembered the 
exploits of the early nobles. 

"My love," wrote a lady of very amorous reputation to 
M. le Marquis de Gibert, "why are you not more severe with 
the Patriots when you catch them ? At Brussels, for instance, 
they were undressed and left naked in the streets." 

Ladies invent odd punishments, thought I, as I put this letter 
aside, not thinking it necessary to forward it to the Queen. 
And for three days I went through the papers which had 
accumulated on M. le Comte d'Artois' desk, .without finding 
six lines prompted by a sincere devotion for the unfortooate 
prisoners in the Temple. Nothing but details of personal 
interest, requests for money or advancement; boastings and 
empty words, threats unattended by results. At last, on the 


morning of the fourth day of my researches, I came across 
a letter addressed by the Baron de Desingen to the Comte de 
Hautefort, in which I read: 

" I have an idea. Would it be possible, I wonder, to send 
word to the Queen never to ask leave to walk alone on the 
toweis of the Temple .... Some infernal scoundieb of the 
Pahs police might throw her down, and would declare that she 
flung heiself off in suicide." 

Here at last was a piece of Royalist solicitude, but I refrained 
from communicating it to the illustrious person who had inspired 
it: it would have been such a melancholy proof of the intelligence 
of the noble supporters of the Throne! After proposing this 
luminous means of saving the Queen from a great danger, the 
Baron de Liesingen added, as a proof of the risk Her Majesty 
ran in walking on the towers of the Temple: 

" At the Bastille, the jailers not only suggested but urged 
that I should walk out upon the platform; they would have 
ascribed to me a violent death perpetrated upon myself. 

"I beg you to receive this memorial favourably, as serving 
the proofs of my nobility." 

Probably at the time when M. de Liesingen was confined in 
the Bastille, some person of power at Court had become alarmed 
at the development of such vast genius, and not contented with 
keeping him behind bolts and bars, proposed purely and simply 
to get rid of him by having him hurled from the j>latform of 
the Bastille. But the Baron's prudence was too great for this 
plot to succeed. 

Scandal took up a vast amount of space in the dispatches 
which I was sorting out. M. le Comte d'Artois little imagined 
that, by neglecting to hand to his officers the letteis which had 
arrived from England and all parts of Germany addressed to his 
care, he had brought tc^ether a most complete chronicle of 
scandal. I told him of it one evening, and His Royal Highness, 
who always loved to laugh at the expense of sinners, especially 
sinners of the gentle sex. ordered me to make a collection of 
the more spicy letters which I should come across. 

'It is too late now," said the Prince, laughing, "to hand 


them to theit owners. The involuntary delay in delivering tl 
would b6 for these gallant gentlemen a source of u 
and distress which it is my duty to spare them, when hostil- 
ities are on the point of commencing. Wc must be more 
punctual in future. Meantime let us have a good laugh over 
the little epistolary secrets which we have so innocently dis- 
covered. If by chance you should come across anything of 
serious importance, you must tell me, Leonard, and I will 
devise a means of sending the letters to the interested persons." 

" I will obey your commands, Monseigneur." 

The first gem of my collection was an extract from a letter 
written from Stenay by Madame la Marquise Dudreneuc to her 
husband : 

" Madame d'Ambert has just had a very unpleasant experience. 
She had a footman who did her hair, a fine-looking man, and 
a 'grand rabW {Madame Dudreneuc empl^ed the real pkratei 
ef one who kntu) what she was talking of). The commissionen 
of the Convention had him arrested, ordered him fiffy blows cS. 
the stick and turned him out . . . Madame d'Ambert is doing 
all she can to get him back... Terrible things came out..." 

When he read this passage, M. le Comte d'Artois said, with 
a laugh: "Those ladies have taken their habits with them." 

This was very well for a conjugal letter. A trifle of scandal 
helps to fill the pages that might otherwise seem too long. But 
love has quite a different style, egad! Listen to this letter 
addressed to M. le Baron de Flachlanden: 

" If I could only see your writing, it would console me, my 
love... How long you have been away from me! Shall I 
ever see you again? When I read your letters, my blood flows 
more quickly . . . how will it be when I press you to my heart? 
I should die in your arms, my dear beloved. Quick, and call 
me to them . . . Alas, meantime, what cruel days I spend, and 
what still more cruel nights . . ." 

I learnt next year that the Baron de Flachtanden's fond 
correspondent at last found a means of rejoining him, so that 
her blood might be made to flow more quickly than through 
a rare and uncertain correspondence. A year later, and the 
noble race of the Lords of Flachlanden was enriched with a fresh 


scion, whose titles might well be contested one of these days. 
Madame Janet, the mistress of the Comte de Weis^emwolff, 
limited her love to time and place, as became a good Royalist 
and a better logician: she contented herself with the period of 

" How imhappy I should be," she wrote to her lover, " if 
there were no winter-quarters ! I will go wherever they may be, 
so long as I can have my Wolffy ! How I love you, dear heart. 

I embiace you : adieu, and adieu again I send you a 

sweet kiss." 

I am happy to be able to say for the satisfaction of sensitive 
souls that the winter-quarters to which the Royal army retired 
at the end of 1792 were long and undisturbed. 

M. le Baron de Vincy, aide-de-camp to the Comte de Damas- 
Crux, received from an affectionate friend the proofs of the 
tenderest solicitude: 

"You tell me, my adored friend, that you are suffering from 
piles. I am cruelly distressed to hear it. Could you not have 
some leeches applied .... by an Aristocrat, of course .... I have 
sufficient confidence in your heart and your delicacy to hope 
that you will always love me .... I go into an ecstasy, my 
love, my all, when I think of you .... My husband embraces 

you and loves you with all his heart Your last letter was 

for me alone, my dear one. Ah, how kind it was! I love you, 
my own one .... I love you." 

I never learnt whether M. le Baron de Vincy found an 
Aristocratic apothecary to give him his leeches, nor whether he 
was able, when he rejoined his fond mistress, to make due 
acknowledgment of the love which her husband bore with all 
his heart to this friend of the family. 

M. le Chevalier de Frole had a mistress who had resolved to 
employ the most extraordinary expedients to correspond with him : 

" I will write to you by every means I can command," said 
she. **If there are no others, I will send you a letter by the 
Bishop of Verdun * . . . . How long your absence seems! I feel 

* Verdun had been taken by the Prussians, who established their head-quarters 


more than ever how much I love you. See to your health, 
my loved one: on it depends the happiness of my life.... 
Your Josephine." 

Mademoiselle Josephine's love seemed to me to be somewhat 
material, considering that she proposed to conduct her corres- 
pondence through the intermediary of a bishop But there 

are ways of arranging things with Heaven .... 

"To my mindi Leonard," said M. le Comte d'Artois, after 
rapidly glancing over the collection he had ordered me to make 
for him, "this is not at all amusing. French love-making has 
become feeble since the Revolution. All this will not compare 
with the intrigues of our good old times. I would not give a hair 
of my head to possess all these languishing correspondents.** 

"It seems to me, however, Monseigneur, that some of them 
coo to pretty good purpose.** 

"I don't say not; but they all go so straight to the point. 
All those women love without intelligence ; and sentiment alone 
offers so few resources .... It is so difficult to digest .... Ah, 
give me our petites maisonsr 

" I understand Your Royal Highness .... a grain of impro- 
priety stimulates the appetite of the heart, just as condiments 
stimulate the appetite of the stomach." 

"The heart Do you still believe in the heart, Leonard? 

Ha, ha, ha! the heart!" 

"It is true, Monseigneur, that a Patriotic writer has written 
somewhere, ' The heart is but a word, a .syllable used to fill up 
with in love-songs and ....*" 

"Well, why do you stop?" 

" Because the Patriotic writer added. ' And in the speeches of 
the Crown."* 

" Egad, he was right for once in his life, that sans-€miott€..,. Only 
one might also add, 'And in the speeches from the tribune.... * * 

At this moment Mtmsieur, leaning on the arm of the Comte 
d'Avaray, * entered his brother's room, in order to communicate 

•Antoinr I^mii Frtd<^rir iWStiad**. Comt^ d'ATarav, 1757— «*io, united tfce 
Comtr d«» Provon. f, aftrnrards I^»uU XVllI., tii escape from Frmnce in 1791. 
Ho was th.- KinK'» favourit*. ^^A faithful friend during hb exile, aad was 
aplMiintrd hit principal agent, Uc d»^**i in Madeirt, where he had fooe in 

»«arch of health 


to him the contents of a series of instructions which it was 
considered advisable to send to the Comte de Moustier, the 
French Ambassador in Pnissia. I rose to go. 

"Stay, Leonard," said Monsieur; "the despatch which will be 
read out to my brother contains some facts which it is well that 
you should know of, if you still have means of corresponding 
with the Queen." 

These instructions, which received the signatures of Louis 
Stanislas Xavier and Charles Philippe, were intended to place 
the sovereign authority in the hands of Monsieur, at a time 
when the Princes were flattering themselves that they were about 
to re-enter France. But either the Powers refused to recognize 
this authority, preferring to earn the King's gratitude in their 
own way, or else His Majesty had himself in writing protested 
to the foreign cabinets against the Prince his brother's well- 
known plans of domination: certain it is that M. le Comte de 
Moustier encountered many more objections than he had anti- 
cipated, and that the regency of Louis Stanislas Xavier of France 
remained in litigation until the death of Louis XVIL 

One thing besides must be confessed, which is that the Prin- 
ces' anAy itself did not greatly favour the regency of Monsieur, 
whom it hardly ever saw. 

Of this I have evidence above suspicion, in the shape of a 
letter from Madame de Balbi: 

"I have heard of the Prince of Waldeck's death," she 
wrote to the Highness whose favourite {ad honores) she was; 
** it has distressed me greatly .... They tell me, dear brother, 
that you have not been to the French camp .... go and see 
them more frequently." 

But Louis Stanislas Xavier of France did not follow this advice. 


The Court of the Princes at Verdun— Neglected archives — A correspondence 
fiill of despair — A circular of Calonne*s annotated in red ink by Latoor 
d^Auvergne — A relation of Chevert's — A Royalist proclamation to tiie French 
people — Saint-Priest— Monsieur's opinion on the ex-minister's manifesto. 

The fortresses of Longwi and Verdun yielded to the Prussi- 
ans; but Lille and Thionville, though almost reduced to ashes, 
held out. Old French Patriots still remember ballads which 
celebrate the devotion of these two towns ... It would not be 
impossible to find them still, smoke-stained and falling to shreds, 
posted up in the cottage of some old volunteer of 1792. The 
Princes established their head-quarters at Verdun; Monsieur, 
of whom till then the army had not caught a glimpse, had 
himself conveyed to the captured fortress; and this became 
during the few days that it was held, the rendez-vous of a great 
number of turtle doves who up to that time had cooed for 
their loves from afar. For eight days the relays of every post 
were employed only in reuniting couples separated by the war; 
Verdun became another Paphos . . . Even Madame de Balbi 
herself came to preside over the court of the Regent pendenU 
lite, and to make merry on his champagne for want of some- 
thing better to do. M. le Comte d'Artois, employing even more 
pleasantly his rights as a conqueror, established for himself a 
little seraglio, selected from amongst the prettiest purveyors of 
sweets, and I believe that but few of them charged His Royal 
Highness dear for their sugar-plums ... In short, the emigrants 
passed at Verdun a perfectly charming fortnight ; it was a sursum 
corda of the merriest . . . nothing was talked of in the town 
but balls, concerts and delightful banquets; and the subsequent 
sighs, although they made less noise, left more lasting effects, 
as became apparent a few months later, from the unappeasable 
tears of a considerable number of the young ladies of Verdun . . . 



But alas ! this was not their only misfortune . . . there was 
seen arriving in Paris in 1793 a crowd of these poor little 
women, whose only betrayal of their country had consisted in 
that surrender which makes the victor so happy; none the less 
were they condemned for it by the terrible Revolutionary Tri- 
bunal; they perished, repeating softly perhaps, this line of 
Pamy : 

Non, le crime n'est pas si doux. 

The Capuan delights which the emigrants tasted at Verdun 
were of short duration; one evening, one fatal evening, a 
Prussian orderly brought Monsieur certain despatches announcing 
that the army of the Duke of Brunswick was retreating and 
falling back upon Verdun. 

At this sad news, beauty, sport and pleasure spread their 
wings and took to flight; the sound of feasting ceased within 
the walls of Verdun, and the Princes, with whom a disciplined 
fortress for head-quarters did not agree, left hastily, so hastily 
that Monsieur forgot that famous pocket-book, which has disclosed 
so many things that this Royal Highness never told. Apart 
from the pocket-book, which through ill-luck escaped my 
notice, the Princes left behind them in their several lodgings 
many other papers, which they instructed me to recover, and 
the talk of which was considerably increased during the forty- 
eight hours which I passed at Verdun after the departure of Their 
Royal Highnesses for Treves. 

You have seen that the emigrants and their correspondents 
flattered themselves with the idea of arriving at Paris by daily 
stages, "because of the roads and the lodgings"; now this was 
so no longer: a kind of panic seized every Royalist heart; the 
letters which arrived and came into my possession and which 
I, in accordance with my instructions, examined (invariably, 
through inadvertence in tearing open both envelopes at once) 
were full f>f cries of alarm. 

"Each day we learn of events more and more frightful," 
wrote Madame de Chamisat to M. le Marquis de Thuisy. " How 
I pity our unhappy sovereigns! The King, so good, whose 
only fault has been his weakness .... But neither he nor his 


august family deserve such a fate, alas! Behold them actually 
prisoners of war; it sends a shiver through one, and you shall 
see, their heads will be carried ia the van of the army sent 
against you so soon as you take the offensive . . . ." 

" What misfortunes," wrote another of love's victims to M. de 
Jonville, "Scarcely had you notified me that you were at 
ChSlons, when I learnt that you were retreating! Behold 
Republican France; they have removed the mask; they have 

deposed the King; and all France rejoices What blind 

folly! May it soon cease! But meanwhile, time slips by; 
the sale of your property is about to take place : I have 
heard that it is fixed for the 5th or 6th of October. We must 
expect everything, since they are capable of everything." 

The emigrants did not write to each other in any more 
consoling fashion : M. le Comte de Lespinasse-Langeac re- 
ceived from one of his friends, a colonel, this doleful message: 

" I cleariy perceive we shall be the victims of the greed of 
those in power; everything proclaims that we shall be sacrificed. 
Knaves and fools are at the helm: how could it be other- 

Another ofGcer wrote to the Comte Louis Lepettier, saying: 
"How unhappy are we! On the one side sick Prussians, on 
the other penniless emigrants, hunted from every refuge!" 

Madame la Comtesse de Chaugy, more despairing still, wrote 
to her husband: 

"There is no hope now of ever re-entering our homes except 

on tenns of the very lowest humiliation What a tnomph 

for these wretched beggars ! what misery " 

"Alas! you are retreating, my dear boy," wTOte M. de La 
Maisonfort to his son; "this Dumouriez, whose mind appeared 
so badly o^anized, has succeeded in triumphing over your great 
generals: it is deeds that tell, and our calamities have reached 
a climax .... And how, without any resources, are so many 
gentle people, who have nothing save nobiHty and honour fin 
their share, to begin the war again in the spring?.,,. What 
we need above everything, is the yellow metal, the 1 


sinew .... Alas! L have none of it for myself, I have none of 
it for you; I am wretched when I think that you will die of 
hunger. " 

It wiU doubtless be noticed that all through these complaints, 
these fits of anger, or boasting, or discouragement there were 
evolved very few sound ideas, still fewer well-considered rea- 
sonings or sensible plans for the future. The generous character 
of the emigrants must however have lain hidden somewhere; 
for if, at the beginning of this voluntary exile, it had fear as its 
first and perhaps its only motive, it cannot be denied that, after 
1 791, it was the outcome of a noble devotion to the cause of 
the Throne, in the case, at least, of many of the emigrants 

Among the numerous wridngs which came under my notice 
after the departure of the Princes from Verdun, I found only 
one of any sense, and this, to the credit of the fair sex, was 
written by a woman. 

The Baronne de Bois-d'Aisy wrote to her husband, a general 
officer commanding the mounted Grenadiers: 

" God grant the emigrants may carefully reflect that they 
must no longer think of revenging themselves on a country 
reduced to its allegiance, but rather of how best to regain 
thet affections of the people. It is this of which we stand 
most in need; and if, on the contrary, we justify the hatred 
which we have aroused in the people, we shall never find peace 
and repose. We must realize that if we had not displayed so 
boastful a spirit, nor so often shown a desire for revenge almost 
as fierce as the worst outburst of the Patriots, and if the emigrants 
in Germany had behaved in a wiser and nobler fashion, they 
would have played a more honourable, a more important f)art 
in the present war." 

This letter contained a great and useful truth which, unfor- 
tunately, had been too often overlooked . on the banks of the 
Rhine ; the licentious life of Coblentz, the openly displayed 
prostitution of our great ladies; the gambling-hells established 
by the emigrants in every comer of the town; the wretched 
quarrels so common among them for the titles, honours and 
privileges which they alt coveted, had brought the emigration 
into disrepute at the very moment when it was most necessary 


that it should gain respect by creating a lofty idea of its mis- 
sion .... Thence the eager desire of the peaceable Gennans 
to drive back from their towns a nobility who were mere brag- 
garts in matters of warfare, although audacious enough in those 
of gallantry, who wearied their cars with their schemes of 
revenge upon "those beggarly Patriots," and who really oc- 
cupied themselves to no purpose save to disturb the repose of 
the happy homes of Germany. 

In collecting the pap>ers forgotten at Verdun, there came into 
my hands a document, with notes in red ink, expressing opini- 
ons entirely opposed to those which inspired the emigration. 

From it you will learn what it was that chiefly misled the 
ardour, folly, madness or ignorance of the majority of the noble- 
men who had drawn their swords in support of the Throne: it 
was the superficial intellect of a Calonne, it was the eloquent 
sophistry of his proclamations, based on errors and prejudices 
which he strove to elevate to the rank of principles. Listen to 
this rhetorician's argumentations in a letter addressed to the 
emigrant nobility at the beginning of the campaign of 1792 . . . 
And the better to judge of its lofty moral tendency, let us at 
the outset see how at that time he judged those French upstarts 
who now (181 1 ) fill the whole world with the fame of their 
military exploits: 

"Yes, this blind people, this insane multitude," said the ex- 
minister, " will find in vou its natural defenders. The French 
will see that this art of war, the shield of empires, is pmh 
possessed by the nobility; that rank has been purchased by 
merit, and titles by blood: that this chimerical equality, with 
which they have been cozened, merely takes something from 
them, never gives them anything; that they have accomplished 
nothing in abolishing Uie nobility, beyond depriving the Monar- 
chy of its lustre ; that this ridiculous issue of epaulets has filled 
the country with mock heroes, just as that of paper money has 
flr>oded it with mock wealth." 

Before this letter had reached its destination, the "mock 
heroes" had burnt Lille and ThionWUe rather than surrender 
them, and the " shield of empires " was fleeing as fast as its 
legs could carry it, towards the Rhine. Let us quote further : 


"You wiJI tell the jealous middle classes that in the destruc- 
tion of the nobility there perishes lie only inductmeni to txtrtion, 
tht only Ttward for merit, the only condition of affairs which 
mitigates poverty, and gives distinction and grace to riches. You 
will easily convince these vain and suspicious minds that their 
dignity would continually be more shocked by the numerous 
class which equality had raised to their level than gratified by 
the comparatively small number of those whom it had brought 
down to them. Our philosophers seek to disparage the honour 
of gentlemen ; you will ask them if a sentiment which induces 
a contempt for life and fortune is itself a contemptible senti- 
ment," * 

Let us continue, however, to set forth the maxims of this 
moral guide of the emigration: 

"The majority of men of letters will be your deadly enemies : 
they wish to destroy political aristocracies, persuaded that a 
destructive one will always be left to them, that of the mind. They 
will make war upon you with sophbtries, and overwhelm you 
with the scourge of print, the only plague which Moses omitted 
to inflict upon Egypt." t 

M. de Calonne himself supports the truth of the note I quote 
at foot by this passage in his circular: 

"Do not be deceived. There indeed exists a terrible struggle 
between the printing-press and the cannon {Ike ejc-minister 
here meant, between inleiligence which reasons, and farce which 
eomptls): what will be the result for the unhappy human race? 
Did Providence, which introduced both these inventions together, 
at the same stage in the everlasting progress of time and cir- 
cumstances, intend to suit the remedy to the disease? Did it 
not then foresee \hat that which ought to enlighten man would 

• Nott. — Replying to thii queition by anothei. sensible men will Calonne 
if inch a Kntimenl is a virtoe common to all the nobility, and if U is a virtoe 
]io««s*ed by tbem alone. They will aik hira to what extent, up to the present, 
nobiU^ has become the reward for merit; if. for foor or Gve great genubes 
annobled in the conrae of the last thiee leigos, one cannot count by thousands 
tiuae wretched patents of nobility, known by the name of iavonnetiet de viiain, 
whieb, (mi from giving diitinction and grace to itches, only brought their 
ttdrtence into contempt by attaching thereto the forma of an empty folly. 

t AW*.— If men of letters knew of no better weapons than sophistries, rtilen of 
— ■ would neret hare reguded the press as a scoorge 



mislead him ? that that which ought to protect him would oppress 
him? and that it was thus adding two cataracts the more to 
the deluge of evils beneath which the earth is submerged ? " * 

I have shown this document to a French expert residing at 
St. Petersburg, and he assured me that the notes in red ink 
were in the hand-writing of the famous Latour-d'Auveigne, who 
was killed in Bavaria during the wars of the Republic. I will 
not swear that the expert was correct; but the views put forward 
in opposition to the proclamation of M. de Calonne seem to 
me to agree with the opinions of the grenadier-philosopher, t 

The mention of Verdun recalls the name of Chevert, § with its 
halo of undimmed glory. Monsieur, showing enlightened appreci- 
ation of that fine character, paid a visit to the booth in which 

the illastrious defender of Prague had first seen the light . 

Among the abandoned correspondence I found the following : 

**My Prince, 

"Born of honest parents, Francois Chevert, my kinsman, 
won, through his military talents, the rank of lieutenant-general 
and the titles of Commander and Grand-Cross of the Order of 
St. Louis, Knight of the White Eagle of Poland, ** and Governor 
of Givet and Charlemont. The loss of this distinguished man, 
on the 24th of January, 1769, deprived me of a protection 

* NoU. — Providenco, which do«i not wish brute force to triumph here below, and 
which sent men civilization to save them from that calamity, Proridciice has 
bestowed upon the preu the virtue attributed to Achilles' spear: it beak the 
wounds it has i:ause<l. Rarely, in the xtniggles between sophistnr and tmth, does 
victory fail to fall to the latter in the judgment of the masses. It is therefore 
only with the int<>ntion of causing opprt^ssion to triumph that artillerr ran be 
opposed to the preaw. For a just, wise and benevolent power makes itself res- 
pertrd and beloved bv governing without the aid of aims. 

t Tht^ophile Nfalo Corret di* I.atour d'Auvergne was bom at Carhaiz in 1745, 
and was a bastard of the illustrious hou<ie of Latour d'Auvergne. He was one 
of the most intrepid soldiers in the Republi<-an army, and distingubhed himieif 
by refusing advancement, contenting himself with the t^^e of ie /Vetmirr grr^ 
tuuiirr de Ffanit^ oftiriallv bestowed upon him by Buonaparte, the Pint CoanoL 
Shortly aftrr, he w;is kill<*d at Ol>(>rhausen (27 June, 1800), where a monument 
was forthwith raised to his memorv, followed, furtvone years later, bv another 
at his birthptai-e of Carhaix. Latour d'Auvergnr was an exceedinglr fine linfnial. 
and published, in 1792, his \ouvrUes reckercket mr lit /amgue, tvTMgime 0t i^a 
antiquiUi tifi Ihrton*, whit h was reprinted after his death under the title of 
Orif^nfi (iauloisri. 

I Kranv<iis <le Chevert. it^f^-^l'jttt)^ a brave French general, was bafn at 
Verdun. Hi* hi-ld i>ut .tt Prague, in 174^, for 18 da>*s with a ^airiaon of 1600 
men against the whole strength <\{ the Austrian army. 

** An order estabh<«hed by Augustus II. in 1 705. It has since been meq^ed 
int4i one of the Kun^ian Im{K*iial Orders. 


which would have contributed to my happiness and advance- 
ment, but which I had not then been able to enjoy, being 
only eleven years of age. My conduct up to the year 1779 was 
such as to obtain for me an oflBce as receiver of His Majesty's 
taxes at Verdun, and this post led me in the execution of my 
duties to the frontier in 1791, when activities were commencing 
at the barriers. 

" When the troops of H. M. the King of Prussia passed the 
frontier, I was not spared. They robbed me of six quarters 
of rye and three quarters of wheat, and this loss amounts to 
100 livres . . . . H. H. the Prince of Hohenlohe, when this fact 
was brought before him, seemed much touched at the accident ; 
but the value of the grain was not restored to me. I make so 
bold as to recommend this little matter to Your Royal 
Highnesses care .... 

** Signed: Traiun." 

Chevert's name invoked for the sake of a hundred francs ! 
All his dignities displayed on paper by a kinsman for a hundred 
francs! .... That does not sound well .... 

I also found among the archives forgotten at Verdun an 
address to the French People, annotated in full detail, and 
carefully corrected, which was headed, " Fear God, and love 
your King and your Country. France shall be saved.** I deciph- 
ered this doctmient with some difficulty, and succeeded in reading 
as follows: 

"Open your eyes. People of France, and see how you are 
being deceived by those perfidious Societies who make use of 
every possible means to lead you astray. See how they stir up 
trouble in every quarter of the Kingdom, over which they ty- 
rannize in the name of clubs. Their branches extend to the 
furthermost villages. In every district these clubs exercise a 
despotic sway; they dispose of every administration by electing 
their members to it, and enforcing their laws. Is it not they 
who are responsible for the burning and pillaging of the chateaus? 
Is it not they who hunt down like wild beasts the nobles and 
the unhappy clergy who have remained true to their principles, 
to the King, and to God? Is it not through their tyrannical 
clamouring, through their reiterated threats, that the greater 



part of the nobility and of the rich landlords have been compelled, 
in order to escape the assassin's dagger, to seek a refuge beyond 
the limits of the Kingdom? Is it not from their Assembly, when 
they prescribed the most derisive and impolitic of oaths, that 
the apple of discord was thrown which divided the Church and 
the Army ? Is it not they who have sown the seeds of insub- 
ordination among the troops, inciting the soldiers against their 
officers, and forcing the latter brave men to leave their regiments 
after their hair had whitened in the service of their country, 
which they had defended with so much honour? 

"Those, People of France, are the benefits which you have 
received at the hands of those monstrous corporations, the 
greater part of whose members have no prop)erty of their own 
and daily incite against those who have. They ask for a 
republic so that they may reign still more despotically over you 
when they have subjugated every authority and ravaged ail the 
property that gives the rich man an influence over the poor 
and binds the latter to the former by the bond of gratitude for 
benefits received." 

This document gave a picture somewhat exaggerated, perhaps, 
but none the less true, of the interior of France and the 
agitation produced by the popular societies .... These societies, 
which overran the whole Kingdom, intoxicated the people with 
the goblet of an illusory sovereignty: the good people thought 
itself king, in the manner of the ancient masters of the workl, 
of those Romans whom revolutionary France took for its 
model .... It was not easy to remove from its lips this delectable 
beverage before it had discovered the deception which lay at the 
bottom of the cup .... It discovered that later on. 

I unearthed another minute for a proclamation, enclosed in a 
letter addressed to Monsieur and signed Saint-Priest. * In this 
manifesto the ex-minister adopted a sort of fj^miliar tone in 
order to be better understood of the multitude. You will see 
that he may have succeeded in being simple: he certainly did 
not succeed in being accurate. 

* Francois Emmanuel Guignard, Comte de Saint-Priest, 1735 — 1821, aenredat 
Ambassador to Portugal and Turkey, and was appointed Minister of tiie Interior 
in 1789. He emigrated in the course of the subsequent year, wandered rooad 
the Courts of Europe soliciting assistance for the Bourbons, and retomed wHfk 
them to France in 18x4. He was created a Peer of France in 1815. 


** Good people, I will tell you why the price of bread has 
gone up, and why you are threatened with having none to eat. 
First of all, there are so many masters that we can't hear one 
another speak. Next, they have divided the Kingdom into 
eighty-three departments, which have nothing in common, which 
don't correspond one with the other; so that when one has too 
much of a thing, it is not able to offer any of it to another 
which has not enough. Formerly, when the Intendant of Paris, 
for instance, and the Lieutenant of Police, and the Provost of 
the Merchants perceived that com was getting scarce on the 
market, they wrote to the Minister. The Minister wrote off at 
once to the intendants of the provinces which were able to 
supply it. One wrote back, " My province could send so much 
without running short"; the other wrote, "So much." And if, 
as happened in 1788, the intendants all replied, "We have 
none to spare; you must not hope to get any com from my 
province: I fear we shall be mnning short here too," then the 
good King, the father of all Frenchmen, wrote to all the kings 
his neighbours, begging them to allow him to buy com in their 
States for his children, and promising them to do the same for 
theirs when they should nm short of corn and his should have 
any to sell. 

" That is how our good Sovereign bought sixty millions' worth, 
as you all know, the year before you rebelled against him. 
With his own hand he wrote urgent letters to the King of 
Naples to permit the French ships to come and fetch com in 
Sicily. He wrote to the King of England, to the King of 
Spain. He even sent all the way to America, whence he 
received millions of barrels full . . . .He is no longer the master 
now ; he has no more intendants at his orders in the provinces. 
Each of the eighty-three departments does as it thinks fit. 
They think only of themselves, and they will suffer through it 
just as you do. Moreover, all our neighbours despise us now, 
hate us, and are preparing to make war upon us, because you 
are conunitting an offence against God and mankind by keeping 
the best of kings a prisoner. If the administrators of the 
departments should now try to come to an understanding with 
the King on this subject, they would no longer be able to do 
so . . <r . there are the administrators of the districts and the 


municipals to be reckoned with; it would be a heap of 1&, 
buts and whys without end; and when they had agreed, which 
they never would do, the people themselves, who are masters 
too, since they all carry guns, would raise objections, without 
thinking that they may be in the same case some day. 

"Formerly, France was one great family, governed by one 
father; everybody obeyed him for everybody's good. Now 
each man pulls his own way; and so that things may become 
still more muddled, our poor France is divided into eighty-three 
instead of thirty-three. For the provinces themselves are divided 
into two or three departments, which are sure to end by 
quanelling with one another. 

"And I tell you, my friends, I am not a clever man like 
Condorcet, Bailly and all the rest who pretend to be such 
good men of business; I am not a mathematician, nor a phy- 
sician, nor a logician, nor an academician ; but I have more 
common sense in my little finger than all those wise men put 
together, who only know how to write books, and who want 
to meddle with government, and than all that Left side of the 
National Assembly, which has turned out, without listening to the 
Right, a Constitution which nobody can make heads or tails cL 
Things will go from bad to worse, be sure of that, until yon 
come to see that there is none but a good King able to make 
his subjects happy . . . .And that is what I wish you may soon 
come to see." 

The margin of the four big pages which this document covered 
was filled with a note, all in the handwriting of Monsieur; and ' 
of a far from approving nattue. 

" M. de Saint-Priest," said His Royal Highness, "proposes to 
talk to the French people as one talks to children, and this 
no longer suits the times: the people have shown all too weD, 
egad, that they have attained their majority. Moreover, in 
using the language suited to little boys, M. de Saint-Priest 
should at least have used the arguments of an adult, and that 
is what he has not done. One should be careful how one 
speaks to the French Nation of what happened with the corn- 
supply before the Revolution: tliat is not quite the finest side 
of the old system of things, and people still remember that the 


King our giandfkther drove a trade in com of a more or less 
scandalous character. The revolts which constantly recurred in 
France during the reign of the King our brother because of 
the monopolists who, imknown to His Majesty, continued the 
traffic in the King's wheat are still a matter of common 
notoriety: let us not rake up these old dung-hills, which can 
still emit so foul an odour. 

"And then, when you want to persuade people, you must 
let your statements be at least probable. Every school-boy knows 
that when a province has more com than it requires for its own 
consumption it passes it on quite naturally to the one which is 
short of it without any necessity for interference on the part of 
the King, or his ministers, or his intendants. A greater master 
than they, self-interest, dictates the transaction, since it is quite 
simple to expect to sell one's com at a good price and safely 
to a country which stands in dread of a famine. 

" When he speaks of the applications made abroad in order 
to obtain com, because of the insufficiency in France, M. de 
Saint-Priest proves himself a bad logician. He should have 
remembered that in the very worst years the harvests in France 
were always sufficient for her needs; and that if the country was 
reduced to solicit p>ermission to purchase com abroad, this was 
only because the operations indulged in by the principal specu- 
lators had exceeded lawful limits No, no. Monsieur de Saint- 
Priest, don't say again that the King of France had to ask for 
assbtance of com in England : people would take the great lib- 
erty of laughing in your face 

**As to the author's criticism on the division of the territory 
into departments and the want of a mutual understanding which 
he supposes to exist between them, nothing is less well founded, 
either in principle or in fact. Every Frenchman can recall that 
medley of customs and observations and jurisdictions which 
formerly prevailed throughout the Kingdom: the persistent 
remnants of the feudal system, which made each province a 
separate state, in which it was not only impossible to make its 
interests harmonize with those of the neighbouring provinces, 
but in which a number of authorities, seigneurial, ecclesiastic 
and municipal, kept up a perpetual conflict. The one useful 
and indispensable thing brought about by the French Revolution 


is the uniform division of the territory, and the suppression of 
all those local systems of jurisprudence which constantly tram- 
melled the action of the Monarchy. 

"We think, therefore," resumed the Prince, "that the Comte 
de Saint-Priest's composition would be a dangerous thing to 
make use of, both on account of its tissue of erroneous 
principles and the criticism which it would be sure to 



My £arewell audience of Monsieur — And of M. le Comte d' Aitoii— News of the 
death of the Vicomte de Mirabeau- The Comte d'Artois' reflections — Louis XVI.'s 
hair-dressing edict— The King as inspector of ladies' costume — Hair-dressing in 
numerical order— The Princes' carriages seized for debt — The distress of the 
emigrants — Re-appearance of Madame Du Barry. 

I LEFT Verdun in order to rejoin the Princes at Treves, carrying 
with me the papers which they had forgotten in departing, 
with the exception of the unfortunate private pocket-book of 
H.R.H. Monsieur, in which, let me say in passing, the Jacobin 
party has pretended to have foimd a number of things which 
were not there : love-letters among others, which were formulated 
according to each one's individual fancy. I think I am right 
in presimiing that the only correspondence of this kind which 
the too famous portfolio can have contained came from Madame 
de Balbi; and I am inclined to doubt whether love, properly 
so-called, played any great part in it. The favourite realized 
the futility of lighting a fire upon the icy plains of Lapland, 
and she knew how to make better use of her fuel. 

After handing to the King's brothers the papers which I had 
collected at Verdun, and giving M. le Comte d'Artois the key 
to the spoils of his own archives, I declared my intention of 
returning to England in order to continue to carry out the 
Queen's instructions. 

"What! the Queen's instructions?" repeated M. le Comte de 
Provence, somewhat brusquely. "And how can you receive 
her instructions, now that her Majesty is confined in the 

"Mon Prince, sinte the occurrences of the lOth of August 1 
have never ceased to receive the Queen's instructions." 

"That seems very extraordinary," rejoined Monsieur, with 

evident ill-hmnour; adding, in coaxing tones, "But I think, 



Monsieur Leonard, you ought to communicate to me the nature 
of the intelligence which you have kept up with the Crown." 

•* I meddle, Monseigneur, neither with war nor politics. True, 
what the Queen deigns to ask of me has nothing to do with 
the ordinary attributes of an hmnble hair-dresser; but as those 
who second me risk their lives at every moment, I could not, 
without sacrificing them, extend my relations. Your Royal 
Highness will understand that so dangerous a secret must not 
leave my breast." 

"Very well, Leonard, very well," replied Monsieur, in atone 
of forced composure, " I will not ask you for a confidence which 
you cannot give And when do you return to London?** 

"So soon as I have received Your Royal Highness's orders 
and those of M. le Comte d'Artois." 

" I shall devote to-morrow to preparing mine. I shall be glad 
when you are over there. Our agents in London are very 
inactive: they go about drinking tea, making love to the English 
ladies, visiting the assaults-at-arms of the Chevalier de Saint- 
Georges, * or listening to strains of the famous Viotti, t and 
they allow the Cabinet of St James to fall asleep over our 

representations You shall be our emissary to these gentry^ 

you must rouse them for us ... . Do you understand me, Leo- 

** Perfectly, Monseigneur." 

"Go and see M. le Comte d'Artois, who will give you his 
instructions also .... Have you a good memor}'?" 

"Certainly, mon Prince." 

"That is fortunate, for d'Artois never writes a line. It takes 
up too much time, he says, and yet God knows that he gene- 

* This celebrity was a man of colour, born in Guadeloupe in 1745. of the 
mrrce between a wealthy planter and a negreM. His father Drought htm to FVi 
as a Iwv, and put him into the Musketeen. He was subsequentlT appoiated Captam 
of the Guards to the Due de Chartres, father to Philippe EgaJit^, and brcame the 
loTer of the Duchess. His training at the Palais-Roval was nirh as to iBcliar 
him towards the Kerolution, and after his stay in fatgland, during which lie 
gave the fencing displays here referred to, he joined the amy of DuiBoarira. 
be<'ame in the natural course of rerolutionary erents "suspect,* and was anvaled 
in 1794. The 9 Thermidor restored him to liberty, tie died in itoi. He 
would appear to have possessed an agreeable perKm, and to have esrdled m 
the arts of fenrini;, music and love. 

f Giambattista Viotti, an important Italian violinist Louis XVI IL a p pO Mrti J 
him tu the management of the Opera in 1818, but the labour wifpiwrd kis 
endurance, and he died in 1824 at tne age of sisty-nine. 


rally does not know what to do with his, unless it be the time 
between night and morning . . . ." 

There was a touch of ill-humour in this remark of the Prince's, 
although he laughed as he uttered it. I suspected the reason 
for this little display of discontent. Charles Philippe of France 
was not very willing to recognize the regency de facto which his 
august brother had assumed until the time when he would be 
able to exercise it de jure. It is always that plaguey power 
which comes between Princely friendships. I carefully kept to 
myself Monsieur's not very brotherly outburst, and went to M. le 
Comte d'Artois to ask his orders. 

I found with His Royal Highness an officer of the army 
conunanded by M. le Prince de Conde at Fribourg. He had 
just brought the Prince the news of the death of the Vicomte 
de Mirabeau, so well-known at that time by the name of Mirabeau- 
Tonneau. * The officer was about to commence a recital of the 
funeral honours shown to that general, when His Royal High- 
ness interrupted him with a somewhat burlesque reflection, ex- 

"That honest Mirabeau, his belly is bound to have caused 
his death. On the battle-field, it was too big long to escape the 
enemy's bullets; and outside the lists of war, it was too greedy 
to escape an indigestion. Since you tell me that the viscount 
died in his bed, I am sure he must have succumbed to the 
consequences of a great dinner, as he would otherwise have 
succimibed to the consequences of a great battle. Go on." 

A little disconcerted by this digression, the soldier resumed 
as best he could his pathetic narrative. "M. de Mirabeau," he 
continued, "expired on the 15th of September, at three o'clock 
in the afternoon. I had just arrived at Fribourg, and my first 
care was to go and shed a tear by the hero's side, as he lay 
in state. He wore his Hussar's uniform : his features were unal- 
tered; one would have thought he slept. Your Royal Highness 
cannot conceive," said the officer, wiping away a tear, "how 
this sight threw me beside myself. I raged at the idea of the 
joy which this loss will cause our enemies; my blood boiled in 

* He was the younger brother of the great Mirabeau, *' Mirabeau-Tonnerre/' 
and owed his own nickname of '* Mirabeau -Tonneau" to his fatness, which was 
excessive. He emigrated with the Court, and died at Fribourg somewhat about 
this time. 


my veins; had I been called upon to fight at that moment, I 
should have been doubly brave. On the morning of the i6d), 
H.S.H. the Prince de Cond& reached Fribourg with a laige 
number of general officers and five officers from each ccMnpany 
in the evening the body was carried to the cemeteiy outside 
the town, surrounded by four to five himdred French officeo, 
with the Princes of Conde and Esterhazy * at their head. 

"The Austrians rendered to the deceased the honours doe 
to a general officer: a batallion of infantry, two flags; voOeys 
of musketry and artillery were fired over his grave. The Mirabean 
Legion demanded the heart of its leader; it has been endoied 
in a little case of lead, which will be himg to the white flag of 
the regiment. 

" The widow of the illustrious viscoimt," continued the redter, 
" will shortly arrive at your Royal Highness's head-quarters, in 
order to beg for her little son the command and ownership of 
the regiment raised by his late father." 

"Even if she were pretty, and she is not," interrupted M. le 
Comte d'Artois, "Madame la Vicomtesse de Mirabeau should 
not receive my consent to so ridiculous an appointment To 
give colonels' brevets to sucking-babes was one of those pret^ 
things which were possible at Versailles twenty years ago; but in 
the army, and when it is a question of reconquering a throne, 
you must have moustachios before you can receive a com- 

"In that case, mon Prince, it is to be feared that the Mint- 
beau Legion will be disbanded; for all the officers are devoted 
to young Mirabeau." 

" Monsieur, if they choose to dismiss, the King will have no 
reason to regret the loss of such servants . . . ." 

The officer, who had doubtless been charged to prepare the 
way at the Princes* head -quarters, dared not reply. He bowed 
and went out. 

"Well, my dear Leonard, in spite of all the pathos that that 
worthy officer has thrown into his recital, he has not succeeded 
in touching me. No doubt in the Vicomte de Mirabeau we 
lose a brave and devoted general ; but his monstrous corpulence 

* The House of Esterhazy was promoted to the dignity of a State ia the 
Holy Roman Empire in 1804, just before that Empire ceased to exist. 


is always present before my eyes. I see him in his light uniform 
of Hussars, stretched on his death-bed .... and do you know 
the idea which gets into my head when I think of it?" 

•If Your Royal Highness would deign to tell it me ... ." 

•Yes, but in a whisper .... All the time the officer was 
taDdng to me, I was thinking of the funeral obsequies of the 
Shrove-tide ox!" 

The precision of the comparison caused me to burst into 
laughter, for which I made my best excuses to the Prince. 

"Oh, laugh, Leonard; there is no harm in laughing: it is so 
much gained over our most redoubtable enemy, weariness .... 
As for me, I am eaten up with weariness, and if it lasts long, 
I believe on my honour I shall end by joining that poor Vicomte 
de Mirabeau .... What the devil is there for me to do here? 
The emigrants are all ruined: there is no play possible; the 
lady emigrants are growing old, and I am tired of my studies 
in ancient history; the German women are sentimental and 
cold; and as to the German Princes, you can't go hunting with 
them for an hour without fearing to step out of their states. 
Ah, my sweet Versailles, my charming Paris, where are you? 
Come, Leonard, tell me a story of our good days to enliven me 
a little .... Rummage once more in your powder-bag and bring 
out an anecdote. Tell me of your career as a hero, when you 
were a duke, a count, a marquis, a president ... by proxy." 

"Gladly, mon Prince. I remember a rather curious chapter 
in my history which took place in the year when Your Royal 
Highness lay before Gibraltar." * 

" Yes, yes, when I made such fine play with kitchen 

batteries. " 

* As Your Royal Highness wittily wrote to the Queen 

Well, at that time I was literally overwhelmed under a burden 
of which one rarely complains: the burden of my reputation. 
It was useless even to attempt to satisfy the thousand demands 
made upon me on every side. I had as many as ten aides- 
de-camp who set out every morning from my house in the 
Chaussie-d'Antin and spread themselves out over every quarter 

* At the siege of 1782. It was on the occasion of this siege that d* Arson's 
floating batteries were brought into play, to no purpose; and it is doubtless with 
reference to these batteries that the Comte d'Artois makes the little play upon 
words that follows. 


of Paris, in order to prepare the heads to which I was to give 
the finishing touches. However, it was always necessary that I 
should put in an appearance in person, and the work became 
beyond my powers." 

" Especially when the accessory duties tended to put out your 
hand a little at the end of the day. *" 

** Your Royal Highness always jests with a charming grace 

I raised my prices, but to no avail : the ladies' eagerness in no 
way relented .... Your Royal Highness will perhaps refuse to 
believe that I never had so many clients as on the day when 
I determined not to dress a head for less than twenty-five 
louis . . . ." 

"I am not surprised at it: ladies never bargain with their 
lovers nor with their caprices." 

''One day I said to the Queen, after arriving a few minutes 
late at her toilet, 'Ah, why cannot I petition the King to 
give an order that the ladies of the Court are henceforth only 
to have their hair dressed by me upon an edict of His Majesty?' 

" * You may think you are jesting, ' replied Her Majesty, ' but 
I would it were so, especially when we are away from town and 
all the Court ladies stay at the Chateau.' 

"A few days later the Queen gave a ball at Marly. Your 
Royal Highness knows how small the apartments are in that 
little palace, the fruit of a whim of Louis XIV.: it is really 
not much more than a simimer-house, and the most highly 
titled ladies were lodged like their lady's maids at Versailles. 
So much so, that I told the Queen it would be impossible, seeing 
the number of heads that would have to pass through my hands, 
for me to think of running up and down the stairs and corri* 
dors in order to dress the hair of all those ladies in their tiny 
bed -rooms. 

"'It is well you remind me,' replied Her Majesty, laughing; 
'this is the time to have an edict commanding all the ladies to 
proceed to a large room on the ground-fioor and there to wait 
their turns to have their hair done in a neighbouring apart- 
ment I will go straight to the King, and I promise yoo, 

Leonard, you shall have your edict.' 

"The Queen explained almost seriously to the King the 
anxious position in which I found myself placed, and proposed 


that His Majesty should interpose his authority in this difficulty. 

"'Not by means of an order, at least,* replied the King 
gaOy; 'this is quite simply a matter for a commissary of police, 
and I imdertake to play the part . . . .' 

"'What, Your Majesty would condescend . . . .' 

"'Zoimds, Madame, it is not for you to protest: was it not 
you who obliged me to issue counterfoils for your theatre at 
the Petit*Trianon, so that there might be a little order in the 
house? My duties to*day will be much more elevated .... Let 
me know when the time comes .... you shall see .... you 
shall see ' 

"And really, at six o'clock in the evening, all the ladies 
staying at the Chateau were commanded to assemble in one 
of the rooms downstairs, dressed in their dressing-gowns, and 
carrying flowers, feathers, diamonds and so forth, in order to 
have their hair dressed under His Majesty's inspection. To 
come down in their dressing-gowns was easily said; but it was 
an extremely delicate condition to have to put into practice. 
The presence of the dressing-gown presupposes the absence of 
the corset; and out of every twenty aspirants, there were at 
least ten who were not prepared to present their unsupported 
charms to the " inspection " of the King, notwithstanding that 
His Majesty was near-sighted. 

" Nevertheless, the nmnber of my clients was large enough to 
make a Royal police absolutely essential. The ladies assembled 
in the waiting-room, notwithstanding the presence of their Sove- 
reign, put forward claims of precedence which became more and 
more noisy, and which threatened to become violent. His 
Majesty shouted for silence like an usher in the law-courts, but 
he soon perceived that the force of nature was stronger than 
the respect for his person, and he would have certainly 
shouted himself hoarse, had he not devised another means of 
keeping order. 

"'Footmen!' cried Louis XVL, 'bring a small desk, ink, a 
pen and a packet of cards.' His Majesty was obeyed forthwith. 

"'Now,' resumed the King, *I am going to give each of you 
a number . . . Come, ladies, walk up : the oldest first . . . .' 

"Not a lady stirred. 

"'Ah, that's true,' said the King, laughing heartily, 'what a 


funny idea of mine. Come as you please then, but one after 
the other, and without confusion * 

** When the inspection was finished, the King, greatly amused 
with his duties as commissary of police, took up his stand at 
the door leading from the waiting-room into the smaller room 
where I was to do their hair, called for number one, and so 
on for all the series. The good Prince watched me at work; 
and so soon as a head was finished, and its owner rose to go 
out by a sidedoor, His Majesty clapped his hands and called 
the next number. In this way the fatigue of my sitting was 
greatly diminished, and the King took more pleasure in this 
preamble to the ball than in the ball itself." 

As I finished telling this little anecdote, a messenger was 
announced from Prince Hohenlohe. That general sent word to 
His Royal Highness that he would be obliged to fall back upon 
Alsace in consequence of the retreat of the Duke of Brunswidc. 

"This news," interrupted M. le Comte d'Artois, "is very 
different from what I was told a few days ago by M. le 
Cardinal de Rohan. His Eminence declared that the armies of 
Luckner and Dumouriez had assembled before the Prussians, 
who had let them do as they pleased; but that subsequently 
there had been a great battle, which cost the Patriots seventeen 

thousand men I see that M. le Cardinal wished to gUd the 

pill for me . . . ." 

M. le Comte d'Artois next gave me his orders for England 
in his usual fashion, that is to say without writing a word 
down, and I had to cover the tablets of my memory with an 
infinity of details, which I was well decided to put down on 
paper so soon as I had left the Prince. " As to your commis- 
sion to inform the Queen of our financial situation," added the 
Prince, drawing from his pocket a note which he had received 
that morning from the Marquis de Vienne, " you can show this 
to Her Majesty, my dear Leonard, in confirmation of yom 
report to her Read it, read it," and I read: 

"Three of Monsieur's carriages, and nine others belonging 
to French noblemen, although deposited in a place of safety, 
have just been discovered and seized by one Michael Horn, oi 
Andemach, for the sum of 1104 livres owing to him by die 


Princes. A further seizure has been made by a woman named 
Scherds Bateliva, for 1500 livres due to her and the same to 
her son." 

"We did invent a means," resumed the Prince, "which, with 
the aid of the engraver's art, was of some use to us. But it 
did not last long : the people of Treves saw through the secret. . . . 
See here, Leonard; you had better take this report too, it 
reached me to-day: 

"*We were never so [unfortimate as at present. Assignats 
given in payment or discoimted by messieurs the emigrants are 
continually being sent back from Paris, with reports declaring 
them false. They say there are four millions' worth of them. 
Your Royal HigRness knows how selfish the people of Treves 
are; you may imagine their outcry, and it is we who are the 
victims. ' 

"You can understand, my dear Leonard," resumed the Prince, 
"that to be called pickpockets is not pleasant for Princes of 

the Blood ; the position ceases to be endurable Should 

4iere really be any means of helping us, it is high time to do 

so now." 

"The means are there, Monseigneur . . . . and I have an ap- 
pointment at Dover with some-one well-known to Your Royal 
Highness, who is assisting us greatly . . . ." 

"Oh, oh! and the name?" 

" I may not tell yet ; but it is quite certain, and the assistance 
will be one of two or three millions." 

"Then it's a providence . . . ." 

"That has never been severe to living man." 

" It must be a woman of the Court. . . . Go, and keep cour- 
age ; for we are reduced to selling our breeches. . . . Don't 
think I am joking. See here, Leonard, read this letter written 
to M. de Wicom, one of my staff-officers, by his friend, Madame 
Le Bouhour." 

I took the letter, and thought I was the dupe of an illusion 
when I had read it. It ran thus: 

"I have sold the clothes of which you spoke, and also your 
breeches : I have made every effort to sell them as dear as 


possible; I assure you I have had a deal of trouble, for I had 

them taken to every house At last I sold them to M. Cul 

for one louis. As to your waistcoat and your nankeen breeches, 

I could get nothing for them What wretchedness, my 

heart!" * 

I took my final leave of the Princes on the 12th of October 
1792, and on the i6th of the same month I stood on the jetty 
at Dover, awaiting the arrival of the packet from Calais. At 
five o'clock in the evening, it being neap-tide, the passengers 
who had come over in that ship had to be carried on shore 
on the backs of sailors. With my spy-glass in my hand, I 
endeavoured to distinguish the features of the travellers who 
were being thus disembarked. Among others, one lady seemed 
to be a rather heavy burden for the sailor who carried her. 
She cared so little for her position on the Englishman's 
shoulders, that she was quite indifferent to an entire exhibition 
of her leg ... . a very remarkable leg, on my word ! . . . " Oh, 
oh!" said I to myself, after a careful scrutiny, "I seem to 
know that leg. ..." Six minutes later I was assured that this 
piece of evidence had not deceived me. ... I received in my 
arms Madame la Comtesse Du Barry, as she leapt from the 
back of her carrier. 

* The original publishers here append a note to say that this letter was kept 
by Ldonard and shown to them in 1816, and that they copied it word for word. 


The handsome masquerader — Explanations — Projects — The Royalist colony — 
British policy — A morning visit— Blache the Republican —A scene at William's 
door — Tne little shoe-black. 

Madame Du Barry was as fresh and pretty as ever, notwith- 
standing that she had passed her fortieth year. She greeted 
me most graciously, and even very notably squeezed my hand : 
there was a memory of Luciennes in that pressure. 

**We are old friends, Leonard,** said the countess, leaning 
on my arm as I led her to the inn kept by the Sieur Mariet, 
a Frenchman who had been established at Dover for some 

"You speak of old friends, madame; in truth, it is difficult 
to believe, when one looks at you, that you can have any of 
that sort." 

** True, I have some young ones too ; " and so saying, Madame 
Du Barry turned towards a tall young lady's maid walking by 
her side. 

Following her glance, I was struck with extreme surprise, so 
great was the resemblance between this young woman and the 
Due d*Aiguillon. 

"Oho!" thought I, "is this the fruit of the love which obtained 
for the duke the title of Premier? . . . Yet I never heard that 
the countess .... What am I thinking of ? . . . Surely I knew 
how the matter stood at the time .... But such a likeness .... 
Ah! the daughter of Mademoiselle Raucourt, perhaps .... 
Impossible; it has always been maintained that that notorious 
actress was not enough of a woman to have children .... I 
give it up." 

"You seem vastly bewildered, my poor Leonard," whispered 
the ex-Favourite, guessing my mystification. "I will wager you 

VOL. II. '77 12 


are seeking very far afield for an explanation which lies close 
at hand .... We will talk of this later." 

Thus chattering, we reached Mariet's. The countess engaged 
her rooms, and eager to make me some important communica- 
tions, she sent away her maid and her lackey, telling them to 
see to her trunks and her carriage. 

When we were alone, Madame Du Barry made me sit by 
her side, as an old and intimate acquaintance, and said: 

"I received all the letters you wrote me from the Rhine. 
friend Leonard, and the demand you have made upon me in 
response to my offer of 1789. It was undexstood that you 
could rely upon me. So here I am .... for it was not possible 
to send anything from France either into the Temple, where a 
golden key might save our unhappy Sovereigns, or to the 
army of the emigrants who, for want of money, are unable to 
bring means of persuasion to bear upon the German minds. 
My house at Luciennes is watched day and night by tfie 
patriots; to remove a tooth-pick from it would ensure a seaidi, 
and I dare not even expose the treasures it contains to the 
light of the sun. 

"It was necessary, therefore," continued the countess, "that 
I should leave the Kingdom in order to come to the assistance 
of the Throne and the Altar .... Do not laugh, Lfonard, at 
that last word; for more than six months I have been concealing 
at Luciennes two worthy priests from among those who used 
to damn me so heartily in the days of my favour. Revolutions, 
my lad, bring about strange metamorphoses : these pious persons 
have bestowed upon me a plenary title to Paradise; they would 
have given me a title to ten; and yet they have been able to 
convince themselves with their own eyes that I have not yet 
become the penitent Magdalen .... 

"By the way, nay, very much by the way," continued Ma- 
dame Du Barry, " how is it you did not at once recognize the 
young Due d'Aiguillon in my maid's clothes? In him you see 
a noble recruit, a newly-dubbed knight, whom I am leading to 
victory beneath the banner of fidelity." 

" And who is the lady who will fasten on the spurs he is sure 
to win?" I asked, with a smile. 

" A pretty question ! " replied the countess. " Surely it will 


fall to her who leads him to battle to attend him through his 
armed vigil." 

"Nothing could be fairer." 

c It is a bore, nevertheless Leonard; inexperience is so 

" With a good instructress it does not last long . . . . " 

"But what are we talking about, when such noble, such 
sacred interests claim all our solicitude? To resume. The 
municipals of Luciennes and the administrators of the Department 
of Seine-et-Oise believe that I have come here in pursuit of my 
diamonds, which were stolen, as you doubtless heard at the time; 
but this is only the pretext of my journey . . . , I have really 
come to discuss with M. and Madame de Crussol, * with Ma- 
dame de Calonne, with the President Deville, and with you, my 
dear Leonard, the best means of selling two brilliants valued at 
two millions of livres which I had buried in a safe spot in the 
wood of Vesinet near Saint-Germain .... The proceeds shall 
be at the disposal of the illustrious captives, or of the Princes, 
according to the more or less pressing needs of either " 

" If you will believe me, madame, go to none of those whom 
you have mentioned. They are all in want of money, and the 
sum which may be of use in fighting for the cause of the 
Throne would be greatly diminished to the advantage of private 
necessities. The emigrants at present in London are amateur 
exiles; the French Monarchy will not emerge from the abyss in 
which it is plunged so long as it has no supports but such as 
they .... States are not saved by making music nor by coffee- 
house devotions. It is on the banks of the Rhine that the 
source of the blood shed for the King should be nourished; 
even then, the division of the supplies will be a difficult matter 
enough .... Listen, madame; I know an English jeweller who 
will buy your two brilliants and pay for them on the spot.** 

"What! two millions!** 

"He may even offer more than you ask for them: that is 
his way ... ." 

"Well, I will put myself in your hands.** 

* The family of de Crussol formerly bore the name of de Bastel and is of 
Languedoc origin. It has four principal branches, namely (i) the Barons de 
Crussol, now Dues d' Vzbs^ (2) the Marquis de Crussol etde Montansier, (3) the 
Marquis de Florensac and (4) the Comtes d^Amboise et d'Ambijoux. 


"But madame, watched as you are, have you Dot felt any 
alarm lest your diamonds should be stolen?" 

" That would be impossible .... I carried them on my 

"All the more reason." 

" It was impossible, I tell you ..." 

Madame Du Barry had brought her carriage ; we set out the 
same night for London, where we arrived at an early hour the 
next morning. The countess was expected; she took up her 
abode in a furnished house which had been hired on behalf of 
M. de Bouille, who, however, had not come to occupy it This 
house, in which were already living M. de Saint-Far, the natoral 
son of the Due d'Orleans, the Princesse d'H^nin, the Duchesse 
de Mortemart, M. Bertrand de Moleville and the Baron de 
Breteuil, thus became a kind of colony, a sort of committee- 
rooms of the Royalist party, which had for its object to induce 
the Cabinet of St. James to declare war on the Republican 
government of France. The two ministers, de Breteuil and 
Bertrand de Moleville were at the head of this Royalist agency; 
but crammed full of systems and false theories, they were able 
to decide on nothing, and consequently to obtain nothing from 
a Court which it required very plausible arguments to arouse 
from its patient and prudent system of indecision. 

Doubtless the British government and aristocracy were favour* 
ably disposed towards the side of the French Court; but it was 
not thus with the people. In the year 1792, the words liberty, 
equality, national sovereignty, and Republican principles generally 
were quite as freely invoked in London as in Paris; Patriotic 
sentiments were scrawled on every wall ; in a word the popular 
spirit had been communicated across the Channel, and John 
Bull felt the germs of a new revolution fermenting in his 

Such were the motives which made the Crown and especially 
the Parliament of Great Britain so slow, or rather so timid, in 
their decisions. At that time, as always, tliey obeyed the great 
maxim of English politics: "What have we to lose and what 
have we to gain in taking such or such a side?" . . . Now the 
Cabinet of St. James feared that in declaring against the French 
Revolution, before the latter positively threatened the peace of 



Europe and thus justified a general resort to arms, it feared I 
say lest it should arouse in the English people a movement in 
sympathy with a neighbouring nation unjustly thrust back into 
its confines of servitude and oppression. 

M. le Marquis de Chauvelin, * who was still in England as 
French Ambassador, and who was well-known for his philoso- 
phical opinions, did all in his power to keep up the indecision 
of the English cabinet, insisting upon the inevitability of a 
revolutionary movement in the United Kingdom in the event 
of a declaration of war upon France. And M. de Chauvelin's 
direct logic, eager and brusque in its frankness, left but a poor 
opportunity to the old-fashioned carpet subleties of Versailles, 
as displayed with infinite circumambulation by Messieurs Ber- 
trand de Moleville, de Calonne, and de Breteuil. As to M. de 
Talleyrand, the ex-Bishop of Autun, who was then in London 
in a plain frock and periwig, not the most acute observer could 
have discovered what he had come to do . . . To hear him 
talk, one would have thought that he was by turns the friend 
of Plato and the friend of Aristotle, without being able to add 
that he was still more the friend of truth . . . He was to be 
seen tacking about incessantly between M. de Breteuil and M. 
de Chauvelin ; smiling to the one, shaking hands with the other, 
never repudiating the tricolor, never harbouring the white flag 
of France . . . This without prejudice to the most charming 
compliments which His ex-Grandeur paid to the emigrant ladies, 
and especially, so they said, to Madame de Crussol. 

Meanwhile, I took up my quarters again in my little lodging 
in Air Street Two days after my arrival, I was visited by 
Madame Du Barry. It was barely seven o'clock in the morning, 
in the month of October; and I was far from expecting so early 
a visit from a woman in whose ante-room, eighteen years 
ago. Princes of the Blood had been known to dance attendance 
for half an hour and more. I was still in bed. The countess, 

* Bernard Francis Marquis de Chauvelin, 1766 — 1832, had been Ambassador 
to the Republic of Genoa under Louis XV. He was bitten with the Revolution, 
and in 1792 was sent by the revolutionary government on a special mission to 
London. After the Restoration, he was elected to the Chamber of Deputies, 
where he made a certain display as a champion of the popular cause, and 
retired from pohtics in I829, not long before his principles^ triumphed in the 
overthrow of Charles X. and the usurpation of Louis Philip{>e. His speeches in 
debate would appear to have been marked by some wit and originality. 


seeing the key in the door, entered without hesitation, and while 
I was apologizing for receiving her with so little ceremony, she 
displayed still less by plumping herself down at the foot of 
my bed. 

" I could not wait before coming to see you, my dear Leonard," 
said Madame Du Barry. " What you told me the other day of 
the French nobility here has proved absolutely true. They have 
all asked me for money with an C£il-de Boeuf unconstraint 
mingled with so much cynicism that you can form no idea of 
it. More than twelve thousand francs have already passed from 
my pockets into theirs. I am quite willing to assist the fiEUthfiil 
subjects of the King out of the bounties of his grand£Ettfaer. 
But they belong in the first place to me, and I at least reserve 
the right to choose those whom I will help, and m3rself to fix 
the limits of my benevolence. As you very well said, my dear 
Leonard, let us first aid the general cause. We can see later 
what is to be done for individuals. In the latter case," added 
the countess, " I think it would be right to begin with the poor 
devils who, in order to be able to fight on the banks of the 
Rhine, have their breeches sold by the ladies of their thoughts* 
as was shown in the letter you showed me. And so before the 
amateur exiles, as you call them, have had time to swallow up 
my two brilliants in addition to some sixteen thousand pounds 
sterling in letters of credit upon different bankers which Vandenyver 
handed me before my departure from Paris, I have come to see 
you, so that we may place the whole in safe keeping." 

"Nothing easier," I replied. "Since you have determined to 
sell your diamonds in order to assist the Princes and hasten 
the release of the illustrious captives of the Temple, let us go this 
very morning to my jeweller, the stoical, conscientious and 
opulent William, and let us finish this piece of business at once. 
As to the letters of credit, it would perhaps be as well to confide 
them to this reliable person, who will give you a receipt and 
deposit them in liis strong-room." 

"That is a good idea. Well then, I am ready to start, 
Leonard ....*' 

" But, madame la comtesse, how can I proceed before you to 
make so very elementary a toilet . . . ." 

"Chaste and timorous Leonard," exclaimed Madame Du BanVy 

.1. « 


with a hearty burst of laughter .... "I have always heard that 
when anything alarms one, one should proceed as far as possible 
in its direction, so as to know what one has to do with *' 

"Alarm! ah, what a word, madame la comtesse! ..." 

And poor Lucette, who all this while was writing me such 

affectionate letters from Paris But then there are rights of 

priority .... 

"Taking everything into consideration," said Madame Du 
Barry, as we were on the point of entering William's shop 
together, "I think it is better that you should do this business 
alone, without even saying that the diamonds are mine. I do 
not much care, you see, to have it related all over Europe how 
remunerative Louis XV.'s affection proved to me. And as to 
the letters of credit, which would give rise to the same remarks, 
keep them yourself, Leonard; you can return them to me, either 
all together or partially, as I require them. Perhaps, after all, 
it is better that I should have a banker of my own nation rather 
than an English one." 

Madame Du Barry accordingly waited for me in her carriage 
outside WUliam*s door. I went in alone, and while I was inside, 
this is what happened in the street. 

During one of the three journeys which the countess had 
made to England in the matter of her suit for the recovery 
of her stolen jewels, she had made the acquaintance, on the 
crossing, of a very polite, very gallant young man, who had 
busied himself about her with true French chivalry what time 
she suffered from a bad attack of sea-sickness. This gentleman 
had asked and obtained permission to wait upon Madame Du 
Barry in London. Julie even assured me that his name had 
soon been added to the list of Jeanne Vaubernier's complai- 
sances, which had become a long one by the year 1792. It is 
certain at least that the Frenchman had received the ex- Favour- 
ite's hospitality. But what she did not know was, that her 
amiable fellow-countryman was none other than the Republican 
Blache, a sworn enemy of the Court and all its belongings. 

Madame Du Barry, so soon as she was made aware of the 
opinions of this Blache, * and of the ugly part he had been 
sent to play in London, determined not to see him again, and 

• Apparently the Blache who became War Minister under the Republic. 


to rid herself of him at all costs should he again call upon her. 
But things happened otherwise. While I was concluding my 
bargain with William, Blache, passing by in the Strand, recog- 
nized Madame Du Barry as she leant forward at the carriage- 
window, and reproached her civilly with not having acquainted 
him with her arrival in London. 

The countess replied somewhat coldly; but he seemed to 
take but little notice of her tone, and continued to converse 
with the lady in the easiest and most affable accents. 

''So you are waiting for some one, madame la comtesse, at 
the door of the richest jeweller in the world?" 

" Yes, I am waiting for M. Leonard, who has been so kind 
as to undertake to realize for me the value of a little diamond . . . 
My journeys and my law-suit have ruined me. " 

" Really ! to the extent of compelling you to sell your diamonds?** 
replied Blache, in a tone that was almost one of banter .... 

" You surprise me, madame la comtesse And I am still 

more surprised that M. Leonard, the confidant of the French 
Court, and the vainest man in the world, should consent to 
sell a little diamond .... But your secrets are your own, ma- 
dame; and lest you should think that I desire to encroach upon 
them, I will take my leave." 

And without adding a word, Blache bowed to Madame Da 
Barry, who was delighted to see him go away before my return . . . 
But he did not go away entirely, as you shiall see .... 

Gladness is always indiscreet. In my delight at having sold 
Madame Du Barry's two brilliants for 2,200,000 livres, that is 
to say for 200,000 livres more than she had ho|>ed to obtain, 
I called this enormous figure to her from the jeweller William's 
door .... I did not at that moment notice that a little shoe-black, 
whose box stood near the carriage, suddenly ran off; I remem- 
bered it afterwards, and this recollection enabled me to explain 
the events that followed. 


The report of the spy — Hostile projects against me — Julie's warning — My leap 
from the window — The flower- maJcer's bedroom — An embarrassing hospitality— 
It was bound to end like that. 

" We hold an important secret, which will help to show us 
what has become of the diamonds recently stolen from the 

Wardrobe " So spoke Blache, within an hour after leaving 

Madame Du Barry. 

"Oho!** replied his interlocutor,* "that is an important discovery." 

"So much the more, monsieur, in that it gives us the cer- 
tainty that the robber\' was committed by the agents of the 
ci'devant King.** 

"This, Monsieur Blache, appears to me to be difficult to 

"Shall I convince you when I tell you that Leonard, the 
former hair-dresser of the Queen and the secret agent of the 
Princes, has just made a sale of 2,200,000 livres to William the 
jeweller, and that the courtesan Du Barry was waiting for him 
at the door?" 

"Are you sure you have not made a mistake. Monsieur 

" I myself, monsieur, saw Madame Du Barry and spoke to 
her. She told me herself that Leonard, for whom she was awaiting, 
was engaged in selling for her account *a little diamond' to 

• The name of this person was known to the original editor of the Souvenirs 
de L/onard^ who explains in a foot-note his reasons for withholding it : he had 
died a few years since with a very honourable political reputation, and the 
editor considers that he owes this silence to the memory of a great citizen. 
This note appears in the 1838 edition; the Marquis de Chauvelin died in 1832, 
when the Orleanist usurpation had become an accomplished fact and when 
consequently Chauvelin's reputation in politics would have been considered 
quite honourable. There is little doubt in the present editor's mind that Chau- 
rehn was the "interlocutor* in question. 



the rich jeweller, and so soon as I was gone, a young shoe-black, 
whom I posted near the carriage, heard Leonard cry out the 
sum of 2,200,000 livres .... Those seem to me to be facts 
difficult to contest, and I venture to think, monsieur, that you 
rely upon my truthfulness." 

"No doubt, no doubt, Monsieur Blache; but is it not possible 
that the diamonds were Madame Du Barry's own property?" 

"You know hers were stolen." 

"All of them?" 

"Presumably. There were 1,500,000 francs' worth of them, 
and it is hardly possible to believe, in any case, that after that 
theft there should remain to her more than 2,000,000 francs in 

" No, it is not probable that the Favourite possessed close 
upon 4,000,000 francs' worth of diamonds, when you remember 
that a few years since she realized the principal of an income 
of fifty to sixty thousand livres to pay her debts." 

"So you see, monsieur, that the diamonds sold to William 
must needs form part of those stolen from the Wardrobe; and 
as to Madame Du Barry's waiting at the jeweller's door, there 
is nothing extraordinary in that : Leonard, they say, is the lover, 
or rather one of the lovers of that woman." 

"One of her lovers, I should say. Monsieur Blache: for 
I have seen you yourself, not so long ago, paying considerable 
attention to Madame Du Barrw" 

"The duties of my mission," replied Blache, with a smile, 
"might involve more disagreeable tasks than that ....** 

"Yes, as you say," resumed the interlocutor, with an air of 
reflection, " there is every reason to suppose that these diamonds 
form part of those stolen from the Wardrobe." 

" And since France is still at peace with England, this 
affair is one of those which allow of extradition, and we have 
a good and lawful cause to evoke the law of nations. Think, 
monsieur: we may be able to restore a capital of 2,200,000 
livres, and perhaps much more, to coffers of the republic. On 
my soul and conscience, I mciint^iin that we are entitled to ask 
for extradition." 

It was ten ocloi^k in the evening. I had just returned from 
s|)cii(liiig the (lay with Madame Du Barr\' and her noble fellow* 


dwellers at her hotel. All these gentles, formerly so proud, had 
become friendly to the extent of consenting to dine with 
unworthy me, just as though Louis XVI.'s promise had been 
realized, and the line of the ''Barons de L^nard" had begun 
in my person. I was preparing to go to bed, worn out with 
the errands on which the Favourite had employed me during 
the day, when suddenly a woman rushed into my room, pant* 
ing with haste and terror ... It was Julie, or if you prefer, 
the Landgravine of Norkitten. 

"Quick, my dear Leonard," she cried, "follow me, there is 
not a moment to lose. You will be arrested; there is a con- 
stable at the door, with his mjnmidons; the house will be invaded 
in three minutes." 

"But I have nothing to fear . . . ." 

"No buts, my friend; follow me, I say. I know this house, 
I have lived here .... Come . . . ." 

And seizing my hand, Jullie dragged me towards the stair- 
case; but there was no way of going down. Already the 
constable and his merry men were in the house, at the foot of 
the aforesaid staircase .... they were beginning to climb it. 

'*This way," said the Landgravine, pushing me into a little 
passage, with a window at the end of it. 

"But I shall be caught in this passage without any outlet." 

"Without outlet!" said Julie, opening the window. "And 
how about this? .... Jump, Leonard .... it is hardly eight 
feet, and a grass-plot below .... Jump, don't be afraid .... 
I will follow you . . . ." 

She had hardly done speaking when I was below, and she 
too .... an ex-dancer is as light of body as of love. She 
grasped my hand once more, hurried me across the little 
garden, opened a back-door, and we found ourselves in one of 
those blind alleys called " yards," leading on to a street that was 
not Air Street .... I was saved! 

Julie, without slacking pace, led me through a host of turnings to 
a little street near Piccadilly, whose name I have forgotten, and 
stopping before a pretty little oval door, said, " Here it is," and 
knocked. We climbed to the second floor; she opened a door, 
then another .... and we were at the Landgravine of Norkitten*s : 
a pretty little room, newly furnished, but yet only one room. 


"There, friend Leonard, is all that is left of my manors. I 
pay four guineas a quarter to my landlord, and no one disputes 
my enjoyment of this retreat . . . .no one even shares it at 

"What, and the cutter?" 

"He has been in Poland during the last two months. Yes- 
terday you did not give me time to tell you, so eager were you 
to go and play Louis XV. the Second!" 

" Mischief! And so Count Delvinski, after all you have 

done for him . . . ." 

"Is struggling to do much more for me, and endeavouring 
to recover in Poland some last remnants of fortune, but especially 
honours, which he will invite me to share." 

" That is right . . . .But now, my dear Julie, will you please 
to tell me the meaning of all that has happened I " said I, seat* 
ing myself beside the good fire blazing in the hearth. 

"You shall hear all. I had gone to cany some floweni to 
Lady Clerges, * and I was showing them to her in the drawing- 
room, while three gentlemen were talking in English in a o»r- 
ner. I know the language pretty well, and listened without 
seeming to. 

"*It is quite true, my lord,* said one of the three, *I have 
just heard it at the Chancellor of the Exchequer's. The French 
Ambassador asks for the immediate arrest of the famous Leo- 
nard, who Ls accused of having sold some of the diamonds 
stolen from the Wardrobe in Paris. The Minister was obliged 
to consent : it was a clear case for extradition. By this time 
Leonard should be arrested . . . .The Ambassador also demanded 
that Madame Du Barr\' should be brought up; but the Chancellor 
declared there was no case against her . . . .* 

" You may imagine, my dear Leonard, that after hearing all 
that, I did not waste much time at Lady Clerges*. I came as 
fast as a coach would take me to within some yards of 3rottr 
door. I did the rest on ft>ot, without appearing too hurried . . . , 
and I preceded the constable and his crew by a dozen paces .... 
You know the rest." 

" .\n<l so," said I, with a laugh which was not quite on the 
right side of my fare, "here am I pnKlaimed the thief of the 

• Sir. Clarjf*'^? 


Crown diamonds . . . .That is right, messieurs the Jacobins, impute 
to us the crimas which you conunit yourselves: that crowns 
your manoeuvres! . . /.The worst is, that if I tell the truth, it 
may compromise Madame Du Barry; for I believe she has 
made up her mind to return to France . . . .This becomes em- 
barrassing, and requires reflection ... .1 must go and see the 

" What are you thinking of, Leonard ? You would be arrested 
the minute you set foot in the street " 

"That is true. . . ." 

" Wait till to-morrow, and I will take a letter for you to 
Madame Du Barry." 

" That will be wisest But how can I thank you, my dear 

Julie?" I exclaimed, embracing her much after the maimer of 
our preludes of 1769 .... 

"A great thing, truly, to do a little service to a friend of 
twenty-three years' standing ! . . . Say no more of that, I beg 
you. ..." And then, bursting into laughter, she added, through 
this transport of hilarity. "But this is quite another matter, 
upon my word! Where are you to sleep? ..." 

"My dear Julie, a friend whom you have known for twenty- 
three years " 

** Is essentially a respectable |>erson, my dear Leonard. . . . 
And then, do you see that |X)rtrait?" added she, pointing to 
a likeness of Dehinski, painted in the uniform of a Polish 

"Did you look at it everj' day, Countess, during the last 
years of your stay in Paris?" 

"Oh no, but Count Delvinski and I have made a compact 
which misfortune has cemented: I wish to remain faithful to 
it. . . . Nay more, Leonard, though you laugh : I can remain 
faithful to it . . . Do you know that we have promised lo marry 
one another ? . . ." 

"I am abject." 

"That should be easy," said Julie, with a smile, "after a 
whole day devoted to the Comtesse Du Barry. ..." 

I made no reply, but said to myself: 

"She shall pay for that impertinence." 

Laughing all the while, the Landgravine Dowager threw on 


the floor a pillow, bolster and mattress, so as to make her bed 
into two, and began to make me up a couch, humming a 
parody of the refrain of the Visitandines : • 

Enfant chdri des dames. 
Laissez, en ce pays, 
Dormir les vieiHes femmes, 
Meme loin des maris. 

"There, you dangerous Leonard, there is your bed. Envel- 
ope yourself, as the wise man says, in your virtue; as for me, 

I shall envelope myself in my curtains, for decency's sake 

and also perhaps so as not to have to blush at the comparisoii 
between 1770 and 1792. Like that we shall be quite com* 
fortable " 

I said nothing. She put out the lamp, and we each lay 
down on our own beds .... But half an hour later the Land- 
gravine of Norkitten exclaimed: 

** Leonard, Leonard, they are right : you are a thief But 

I am good-natured: I shall not ask for your extradition!" 

* The Dims of the Visitation, the least strict of the religious orders. 


Reflections — Madame Du Barry visits Pitt— The British sorcerer — Tragic end of 
young Maussabr6 — A treasure worthy of the Arabian nights — Expulsion of French 
from England — Madame Du Barry returns to France — My fantastic vision. 

Night brings counsel, says the old proverb; and although the 
night I had just spent was somewhat disturbed— so readily do 
our early inclinations revive — I had not neglected to reflect upon 
my situation, which was much more critical than it had at first 
seemed to me. There were two roads open to me: either I must 
leave London immediately and re-cross the Channel, or I 
should be obliged to explain the origin of the diamonds sold the 
day before to William. Now both these courses were bound to 
injure the cause I had at heart. If I left London, I should be 
unable, as the Princes put it, to prick on to greater activity 
their agents accredited to the British government; and if I 
declared that the diamonds I had sold belonged to Madame 
Du Barry, not only should I give cause for a suspicion as to 
the use we intended to make of their proceeds, but I should 
compromise the countess herself, and make her return to France 
impossible .... I saw no middle course, and knew not to what 
decision to come. Julie offered to go out and to look in at the 
flower-factory. I accepted her offer, begging her to hasten her 
return, so as to enable me to act according to circumstances, 
before the affair of the diamonds got quite noised abroad. 

The Landgravine was not long absent. She had found a 
letter for me at Madame T.'s, and she brought it me before 
going elsewhere, since they had told her that it had been left 
by Madame Du Barry's servant. I opened it eagerly; the 
countess wrote to me in substance as follows: 

"Set your mind at rest, my dear Leonard, you shall not be 

taken back to France bound hand and foot; your business is 



arranged. I learnt yesterday without delay what had taken 
place; it was a little late in the evening to wait upon the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer; but the danger was imminent, 
and Mr. Pitt never sleeps. I went to his house, and on giving 
my name to the footman was immediately shown in. 

"Mr. Pitt was working alone in his study, bending over a 
desk loaded with papers and imperfectly lighted by a lamp 
whose rays were concentrated upon a document which His 
Grace * was rapidly annotating as I entered the room. At the 
sound of my footsteps, the minister raised the green taffeta 
shade which surmounted the lamp. I surmised that he was 
not sorry to meet the woman who had overthrown Choiseu 
and performed perhaps a still cleverer feat in giving him d' AiguiJIon 
for a successor. Apparently the examination was a satifactory 
one, for Pitt, who is not naturally a genial man, said to me, 
with a smile: 

" * In what way can I be of service to you, madame la 
comtesse ? * 

" ' My lord, may I ask Your Grace to keep secret what I have 
come to tell you?' 

" * Ah, you have come to tell me something,* replied Mr. 
Pitt, leaning back in his arm-chair so as to listen to me with 
more attention .... 'I can promise you secrecy, madame la 
comtesse .... so long as it is not contrary to the interests of 
Great Britain.* 

" * Not at all, my lord ; only it may help the cause of the 
unfortunate and august family with whose misfortunes Your 
Grace, like every true and loyal Englishman, sympathizes.* 

"* Speak, madame,' replied the chancellor, without confinning 
mv last words. 

"'Yesterday, upon the demand of the French Ambassador, 
you authorized tlie arrest of Leonard, whom the agents of the 
republic accuse of having taken part in a robbery of the Ro>'al 
Wardrobe .... This inipuuition is a calumny: the diamonds 
which Leonard st)kl were minr. Here is the invoice of the 
jfwcllcr who sold them to me in 1773.' 

"*I knew that, inadamr la comtesse.' 

•*'\Vliat, my lord, you knew.... You astonish rjc vastly .. . 

• .V|. . 


** * I can put an end to your surprise in two words : for special 
reasons, William has my express orders at once to inform me 
of any purchases he may make which place a sum exceeding 
one thousand pounds in the hands of the French refugees. 
Yesterday, within two hours after buying your diamonds from 
Leonard, the jeweller was here, in my study ; and you shall see 
that I know more than you yourself do concerning the origin of 
the two brilliants sold in your name. They belonged to the 
Queen of Spain, * who in 1772 presented them to her Favourite, t 
who sold them in Paris to the jeweller from whom you bought 
them, and who made a profit on them of 6oo,oco livres. They 
cost you 1,900,800 livres: and so in selling them to William you 
too have made a handsome profit. However, William will not 
be a loser by the transaction: he is an honest man, but seldom 

" * Indeed, my lord, you are better informed than I about 
the origin of my diamonds .... and I cannot imagine how 
Your Grace knows all this.' 

"'Wait, that is not all: in 1791 the two brilliants in question 
were buried by yourself, madame la comtesse, in the wood of 
Vesinet, between Nanterre and Saint-Germain. It was a fine 
moonlight night, and a handsome young man, worthy of all your 
confidence, was thus enabled to take a note of the place where 
you had made this deposit .... That young man's name was 
M. de Maussabre.' § 

" * My surprise is extreme.' 

" * I have not done, madame la comtesse .... On the 9th 
of October last, at eight o'clock in the evening, you set out 
from Luciennes, accompanied by one of your footmen, and 
carrying the plan traced by Maussabre. You were proceeding 
to the spot where lay buried the little oak casket containing the 
two brilliants. Am I right?' 

"*I am bewildered, my lord; I see that independently of the 
genius with which Heaven has favoured you to the greater 
glory t)f England, it has moreover accorded you the gift of 

* Maria Luisa, wife of Charles III. 
t Manuel Godoy, Prince de la Paix. 

§ This last word was half obliterated by what seemed to be a tear fallen 
from the countess's eye. {Author^s Note.) 

VOL. II. 13 


"'No, madame la comtesse,' replied Mr. Pitt, pressing my ano; 
'but know that our English policy consists in being well infonned, 
and I can assure you that we have in France almost as many 
pairs of trained ears to listen aa you have indiscreet mouths to 

talk .... I will give you a fresh proof The 2,200,000 livres 

which you have obtained for your diamonds are destined fin 
the service of the Royalist cause, and it is for this that yoa 
wish to pledge me to secrecy . . . .' 

" * Your Grace can say what you please, you have the art of 

"'Vou shall have a higher idea yet of my sorcery,' con- 
tinued the minister, with a laugh. 'You have come this evenit^ 
to ask me to countermand the order for Ltenard's arrest, 
because it is through him that the Princes are to receive assist- 
ance through the produce of your diamonds. He alone can 
carry communications from the faithful subjects of Louis XVL 
to the Temple, thanks to the intermediary of a very clever 
little actress called Lucette. Reassure yourself, madame la 
comtesse: I know all this, and much more besides; but you 
have nothing to fear from me, nor from any member of His 
Majesty's cabinet. As to L^nard, I only authorized his arrest 
for form's sake, and to satisfy a political feeling of seemlincss 
in which M. de Chauvelin is good enough to believe.* Leo- 
nard took fright too quickly: the constable charged with his 
arrest was instructed to take him home to supper and then to 
let him go . . . Tell him that he may go about in London as 
much as he will; no one shall see him; and if the French Lega- 
tion take mc to task for my altered determination, I shall know 
what to answer without compromising the secret which }'oo 
would have deigned to conRde to mc had I not already known it' 

"So that is our case, my dear Leonard," concluded the 
countess. "Little snail hiding in your shell, come out again 
without fear; the Patriots' big feet shall not crush you. I wouhW^ 
not go to bed before writing you all this . . . England's p>)^^ 
sun is piercing through the thick veil of fog in which LmidoKn 
is enshrouded; I am racked with sleep, but I shall not g^l 

" "Pitt wiii JeicivpJ," lays the original editor here, i 
hai alrnady been shown v ' 


into bed before I have sent this letter to Madame T., who 
will doubtless find a means of conveying it to you . . . Come 
and see me in the evening. Good-bye." 

In the course of a joyous breakfast of which Julie compelled 
me to partake, she asked me with an expressive grimace about 
a certain Lucette whose name figured in the note-books of the 
English Premier. I told my hostess the story of my witty pu- 
pil: the episode of Lady Barmesson made her laugh heartily. 

" I have nothing so good as that in my collection," she said, 
modestly. "My style was different. As to M. de Maussabre, 
I have met him in society. He was a handsome lad, upon 
my word ; Madame du Barry knew how to choose the aristocrats 
to whom she showed hospitality: for you know it was at her 
house that he was arrested a few days after the loth of August. 
All the world knows of the passion of the Due de Brissac for 
the ex-Favourite of Louis XV. Maussabr^ was the general's 
aide-de-camp, and you know what the rights of those officers 
are . . . just like the pages of the middle-ages and tkeir fair 
employers . . . That is why my late husband always refused to 
have an aide-de-camp. 

"Well then, a few days after the loth of August, a certain 
Audouin, a commissary of the Assembly, was hunting for nobles 
and priests in the neighbourhood of Saint-Germain, and received 
word that the Chateau of Luciennes was full of both. Audouin 
marched off there with fifty gendarmes, commenced by 
breakfasting sumptuously at the countess's expense, and then 
searched the house . . . There was one door which remained 
locked. When the commissary asked to have it opened, Ma- 
dame Du Barry gave signs of uneasiness . . . and replied, after 
many hesitations, that that room contained nothing but dirty 
linen, and that she did not know where the key was ... A 
few blows with the butt-end of a musket did as well, and hiding 
in the room, they found young Maussabre. 

" The countess was unable to conceal the grief she expe- 
rienced at this unhappy discovery ; and she swooned away when 
the bloodthirsty commissary told her that the young whelp 
vrould be taken to Paris, and that the nation would settle his 
Ixisiness before his teeth were much longer. Madame Du 


Barry gave Maussabre her carnage, and took leave of him witb 
every mark of affection. 

" The poor boy, on taking leave of the countess, had the 
presentiment that he would be murdered; and he was right. In 
the morning of the 4th of September, imprisoned in the Abbaye, 
the tried to escape through the chimney of his cell. Thejailen, 
perceiving this, fired at him several times without hitting him. 
This savage method having failed, they heaped up straw in the 
chimney, and set fire to it. Poor Maussabre, half stifled with 
the smoke, fell from his dark place of refuge, and was murdered 
at the piison-door . . . He was one more of those," added 
Julie, maliciously, " of whom Madame Du Bany can claim to be 
the widow." 

I saw the countess that evening in bed, surrounded by abnost 
as numerous a court as used to crowd about her in the days of 
her favour. But in London the motive for this courting was still 
baser than at Versailles : formerly she was the distributor of 
great offices of State, titles, orders, in a word of all that pn>- 
cures consideration and respect; but now people abased them- 
selves before Madame Du Barry for the sake of obtaining 
money. I am bound to say that by preference it was not to 
the most servile that she gave money, but to the moat necessitous . . . 
broken-down priests, ancient lady-emigrants, faithful servants, 
who had gone into exile for love of their masters, and whom 
the latter were unable to support. " Young men of fashion and 
pretty women on the right side of forty," said the ex-Favourite, 
with a conviction of speech which was more frank than moral, 
"are never in want, wherever they may be...." What a 
thing it is to have been a milliner's apprentice before attaining 
the condition of an uncrowned queen ! 

When the crowd of courtiers whom I found around Madame 
Du Barry had all dep>arted, we arranged that a considerable sum 
should be sent to the Princes, in order to enable them to release 
their carriages, which had been seized in different places, and 
to pay an instalment on the money due to the Royalist trot^, 
without being driven to the manufacture of false assignatt. 

I pass over a space of four months, to come to the t 
when Madame Du Barry, despite the advice of 1 
despite the accounts she received on every hand of I 

f her friend^ J 
of the datifu m 



to which she would expose herself, determined to return to 
France. The unhappy Louis XVI. had perished on the scaffold ; 
each day torrents of blood deluged the square known as the 
Place de la Revolution; the guillotine was established in per- 
manence in every city of the Republic; and every head that rose 
above the crowd was doomed to fall, even though it consented 
to bow before those in power for the moment. 

" Wait," said I, one evening, to Madame Du Barry. ** The 
storms of the Revolution, like those of natiu-e, can be but passing 

ones; men's arms must needs weary of carrying thunderbolts 

You are certain to win your lawsuit: the diamonds stolen from 
you will be returned to you; their proceeds and the capital 
which you brought to England with you should suffice to assure 
you an honourable existence throughout a long life; and I 
once more repeat, the troubles in France cannot continue." 

"My dear Leonard, but what can those people do to me, 
when full of confidence I return to live among them? ..." 

"They will accuse you of plotting . . . ." 

* Impossible ! an impenetrable mystery surrounds the remittances 
which I have made to the banks of the Rhine; and now that 
the British cabinet is about to delare against the Republic, I 
have no reason to fear tliat Mr. Pitt will break his word." 

" The services which you have rendered to our exiled country- 
men will be made into crimes .... And then, madame, realize 
that your wealth will be looked upon as a proof of your guilt, 
though you should dress your head with a red cap .... Have 
you forgotten how they cried, from the top of their Mount- 
ain, *War to the chateaus, peace to the cottages!*" 

" I shall say to tliem, * Take all I possess ! ' " 

"Madame la comtesse, I am in despair at seeing you so 
obstinately determined upon your unfortunate project .... They 
will kill you . . . ." 

" I do not think so And beside, I must absolutely return 

to France." 

" I confess that it is impossible for me to see that ne- 
cessity, unless an imperious inclination . . . ." 

" Leonard, I am forty-two years old, and love has become to 
me as soup or beef. But there is one passion," continued the 
countess, eagerly, "which seems to spring from the ashes of 


the myrtles consumed; a passion which no longer fires the 
breast but dominates the mind: I mean the love of riches ....** 

And rising, tlie ex-Favourite went to her secretaire, took from 
it a large sheet of paper, handed it to me, and said: 

"I have no secrets for you; read that." 

I read as follows: 

Memorandum of the Treasure hidden at Luctenna, 

First, In the place in which the gardening implements are 
kept: a service consisting of a porcelain dish mounted in gold, 
a tea-pot, a tea-kettle, a chafing-dish, a milk-jug, a large 
coffee-pot, a porringer with lid and saucer, three small spoons, a 
small tea-strainer, one hundred counters stamped with Madame 
Du Barry's arms: all the above in gold and of very precious 

Second, In a box buried in the same place: fifteen hundred and 
thirty-one louis d'or of twenty-four livres, a diamond neddace, two 
diamond ear-drops, each consisting of nine or ten brilliants: the 
front ones very large ; three rings, one in diamonds, one in emer- 
alds and diamonds, and the last in rubies and diamonds ; a 
necklace of fine and very large pearls; a pair of ear-drops, also 
of fine pearls ; a necklace of gold drops, and two or three gold 
chains for the neck. 

Third. In a small deal box, in tlie keeping of the wife of 
the Sicur Deliant, parquet-rubber: a repeating watch enriched 
with diamonds; a small packet containing fifteen diamonds of 
iwe to six grains each; a packet of small rubies; two flat 
dianK^nds for rings ; a small money-box shaped like a child, in 
gr>ld and blue enamel; a ])air of gold spubs, once the pro- 
perty of the late M. de Brissac; in a little cardboard box, a 
necklace of emeralds and diamonds, including one very large 
one, weighing fifty grains; a gold pencil-case enriched with dia- 
monds; a mustard-])ot, a small salver and two goblets, all in 

Fourth. In a blue velvet trunk, with clasps of silveigilt, hidden 
beneatii a stairrasc \n a nxmi used as a wardrobe : one dinner- 
cover in gold, and rrcstcd; fnur sugar-s|)<K)ns, two olive-spoons 


and a punch- ladle, all in gold; and a case containing one dozen 
gold coffee-spoons. 

Fifth. In the chest of drawers in the room next to the 
bedroom: a pair of ^Id buckles encrusted with pearls; alight 
tortoise-shell box, mounted in gold ; a gold stopper, with a large 
diamond on the top. 

Sixth. In a chest of drawers in the bed-room: a basin and 
ewer in rock-crystal adorned with gold; two jasper goblets motint- 
ed in gold; a bracelet of antique stones, mounted in gold; a 
goblet, two water-bottles and a salver of rock-crystal, all mounted 
in gold; twenty-one rings consisting of different precious stones 
mounted in gold; several portraits of the de Brissac family, 
mounted in gold or set with diamonds; a full-length portrait of 
M. de Brissac and Madame Du Barry, in a medallion with a 
secret clasp and adorned with diamonds. 

Seventh. In a cellar beneath the staircase, in a barrel : nine 
and a half dozens of plates, eighteen candlesticks, a dozen 
sauce-pans and one pot, all in silver; nineteen large silver dish- 
covers and other articles in silver. 

Eighth and last. In the garden of Morin, the footman, are 
hidden eleven sacks containing twelve hundred and forty dou- 
ble louis each, brought back from London after Madame Du 
Barry's second journey. 

"Yes, madame," said I, returning the paper to Madame Du 
Barry, "I can imagine that one does not willingly abandon 
such riches as these." 

"And note this," said the countess; "to anyone who said 
that all this cost me no great trouble to acquire, I should reply, 
'Possibly. But since I am no longer able to procure any more 
by the same means, I must needs preserve what I have, even 
at the risk of my life.' " 

"Ah, madame, that is very dear." 

"You are always thinking of the cost price, Leonard; but I 
only look at the real value. I shall go in a week." 

About this time it became impossible for French people to 
remain in England in an undecided position between emigration 
and business. Great Britain was at war with our stormy republic. 
It was necessary either to declare oneself an em%tant and incur 


the fatal inscription in France, or to become naturalized an En- 
glishman if one alleged reasons of business, or quit England 
with the least possible delay, if one did not wbh to lose one's 
quality as a French citizen. Madamep T. was in this last 
necessity: she owaed land in the Touraine, and would ha>'e 
incurred the confiscation of her property had she applied for 
naturalization. * 

Up to that moment I had not thought very deeply upoD my 
own situation, and on more serious reflection, I found that I 
was not particularly inclined to join the emigration. I saw my 
splendid household goods in the Chauss6e-d'Antin and even my 
freehold of the Theatre Feydeau on the point of being confiscat- 
ed and sold for the profit of the nation, without any consola- 
tion appearing in sight from any other quarter, f For at that 
time the Princes themselves were in a very critical position. 
The Republican armies took the oflensive with an impetuosity 
that was veiy distressing to their enemies; the Austrians, beaten 
in several pitched engagements, were in retreat on several sides; 
and the Prussians were turning homewards, after a deplorable 
finish to their campaign, in which they had been defeated by 
the most singular of weapons, the grapes of Champagne. The 
Russians always expected, always announced in the messages of 
their sovereign, did not arrive; and the English, placing thai 
elegant and fair-haired Duke of York at the head of a quite small 
army, which was all that they sent to the Continent, did not 
promise any very decided supp>ort to the cause of the Bourbons. 

However, if I beheld in Germany nothing but vicissitudes 
without any compensation, the letters which I received from my 
brother (alas! that source of information was soon to be stilled 
for ever) § prevented me from returning to France, where I w» 
r^arded as an accredited agent of the Princes, of Pitt and of 
Coburg. Lucette wrote to me hopefully, becmise she alw-ayi 
expected to be able to protect me ; and as a matter of fact, the 
excellent creature had succeeded up to that time in preventing 

* No foreigaet ii permitUd to hold landed property in France. 

t Thi? theatrp vas actually lold, and bprame tke pioperty of DuClillii, ■ ricb 

ricd het OD hia death-bed, and thus legaliinl thoii daughter, who nuiried tkl 
Starquii d'Amelot, and hroughl him a very coaiiderable fertun*. 
g The brother was pucuted about this time, as italed abovo. 


the confiscation of my property. She found herself floated into 
the intimate traffic of the Mountain, whose members admired in 
her all the Republican virtues. And this charming madcap, so 
good-hearted, so complaisant, so obliging and mobile that she 
flitted perpetually between the Temple and the Committee of Public 
Safety, between the red cap of the Republic and the fleur-de-lys 
of the Monarchy, strongly recommended me to return beneath 
the aegis of her popularity .... But I dared not entrust myself 
to that support, too fragile to risk my life upon. "Wait, 
wait," I said to myself, " and see what happens . . . ." 

I escorted the poor Comtesse Du Barry to Dover, and saw 
her depart with my heart full of melancholy presentiments. She 
returned to France accompanied by M. Auguste Vandenyver, the 
son of the banker, who had come over to England merely to 
settle his father's accounts with his correspondents at the time 
when the commercial relations between France and Great Britain 
were on the point of ceasing. This voyage, and the relations 
which the imfortunate young man had had in London with the 
ex-Favourite, caused the ruin of his father, his brother, and 
himself. * 

As I stood on the shore at Dover, after bidding farewell to 
the woman who for six years had held in her capricious hand 
the tiller of the French monarchy, she appeared to my view, 
standing on the bridge of the packet, as though already mounting 
the terrible instrument of execution; and when, at the moment 
of departure, she waved her hand to me with a kindly smile, I 
thought I could hear her murmur in my ear: 

" Adieu, Leonard, I am ascending towards the Throne of God. 
I shall receive pardon for my faults, wiped out by martyrdom. 
The repentant Magdalen will lose the memory of the impurities 
of this world in the bosom of eternal beatitude." 

• They were guillotined by order of Robespierre, in revenge for their business 
relations with the House of France. 


Julie philosophizes — She becomes a Polish patriot — Less money and moreactir- 
ity — Illastrious b^gars — I leave London with Julie. 

On my return to London, I found all the French popolatm 
of the town in movement; for not only were the French who 
were outside the emigration compelled to leave England, bot 
the emigrants themselves were forced to abandon the comfort- 
able state of exile in which they had been living in the Biitish 
Isles, and compelled by the Court to enrol themselves in the 
regiment known as Loyal Emigrants, which was under ord^ 
to set out at once for the Continent. 

The day after my arrival, I received a morning visit from 
Julie. As a Frenchwoman and not naturalized, she had to 
bid good-bye to England, Countess of Norkitten though she 

" I have come to say farewell, Leonard," she said, witfi 
her philosophical air. ''It is all over: I can succeed in nothiDg» 
not even in remaining a flower-maker ; and since this is sOi 
I am now about to try and turn myself into a Polish princess 

"You are going to Poland?" 

"Yes. I did feel a certain impulse to go and join the 
Patriots in Paris; but this vocation comes ten years too late. A 
woman of over forty does not make her fortune in a revolutioD. 
And besides there is nothing to be made out of it in any case. 
All the dancers of the Opera, all the kept women of Paris have 
fastened on to the togas of our deputies ; the actresses of the 
minor theatres have seized up>on the ciubistes, Jacobins and 
cordeliers. I could do nothing in Paris, therefore, save make 
plumes for the National Guard or paper crowns for the civic 



festivals; I prefer to go and deal in heroism in Poland with 
Count Delvinski." 

"But Julie, have you any means?" 

"My furniture is worth twenty-five guineas; my tools and 
implements about three shillings; that is more than sufficient 
for the journey." 

"But where do you expect to find the count?" 
"I don't know: I will seek for him among the snows of the 
North as Telemachus sought for his father Ulysses among the 
seas of Greece." 

"Under the guidance of Minerva." 

" Perhaps, Master Sarcasm ; but take care lest I should ask you 
for a powerful guarantee to assure my wisdom during the journey." 

" I am not afraid of you. Countess But meantime let 

OS be sensible You require more than twenty-five guineas 

and three shillings in order to rejoin Delvinski, and I cannot 
imagine that you have not yet remembered the fact that you 
have in London a friend of twenty-two years* standing." 

" I should have thought that I proved to you the other night 
that I remembered it very well." 

"Then remember it altogether, and permit me to be your 
banker to the extent of two or three hundred louis." 

"Just so, and in return I will give you bills upon the restored 
Kingdom of Poland .... No, my dear Leonard, I don't want 
your money; such friendships as ours should have none but 
natural souvenirs." 
"This is madness." 

"It is a wise decision: great reserves mean great indolences, 
and I do not wish to send to sleep the activity which I 
developed when I became a flower-maker .... Activity can be 
applied to everything: to the stirring up of revolts as to the 
manufacture of roses and pinks. Delvinski is a man of action ; 
but he is not able to evolve a project. I shall think for him 
out there, and I believe that we shall succeed, if not in restoring 
to the Poles their nationality, at least in making the most, on 
their account, or, if it comes to the worst, on ours alone, of 
this noble misfortune which can be turned to such good pur- 
pose by throwing it as fuel into the flames of the Revolution . . . 
When do you return to Germany, Leonard?" 


"At the earliest opportunity.*' 

" Well then, we will leave together, if you are not afraid of 
the companionship of a sort of Patriot. I will part from yoa 
in Holland, where you have business, you said; I will cross 
Prussia, which is now only a spectatrix of the combat from 
which she withdrew in terror; and I will go to Poland and 
demand Delvinski of all Sarmatian echoes. And if you think 
ht, you shall appoint yourself my Mentor during the journey 
which we will undertake together." 

In vain I urged Julie to take my money: she persisted in 
saying that that meant ruined activity. The excellent creature had 
been a Countess too short a time to have acquired all the easy 
ways of society: she had not learnt to commit that elegant 
robbery which consists in borrowing, with the most charming 
negligence, what one knows one will never be able to repay. 
But if the ex-dancer was inept at this trick, there was no lack 
in London of noble personages who were expert enough at it 
There was a crowd around me to put it into practice : marquises, 
countesses, presidentesses, barons, commoners of Malta, all 
drew on my purse at sight. They all recollected having pro- 
tected me in former days, upon occasions of which I had not 

the remotest remembrance, however hard I might tiy I 

found it difficult to defend myself against these illustrious impor- 
tunities; and when I left London, I left behind me four or five 
hundred louis which I looked upon as so much money lost 
It was high time that I should go. 


A packet-crossing — A Countess selling cheese — The bagman — A letter from a 
Princess in the style of the markets — Prince Louis of Prussia — His favourite 
statue — Madame de Stael and Madame de R6camier — Teutonic tributes. 

A CROSSING of thirty or forty leagues is always tedious. It is 
not long enough to allow the passenger to acquire a fondness 
for nautical pastimes, and even though he himself be not 
troubled with sea-sickness, he is subjected to the disgusting 
spectacle of those that are. Moreover, on board a packet the 
confusion is so great, both below and on deck, that one is 
continually taken up with warding off, here a trip of the heels, 
there a lurch from a staggering fellow-traveller who has not yet 
found his sea-legs; while elsewhere there are manipulations of 
ropes which either skin your legs or knock off your hat if you 
are not quick to bob your head. Julie and I took refuge in the 
sloop on deck, and wrapped up in my cloak, we disposed 
ourselves to pass the night in the open air. 

When we left Dover, it was blowing a stiff breeze, as the 
sailors say; but at sunset the wind slackened and became suddenly 
still: we lay totally becalmed. The next day, when we opened 
our eyes, great was our surprise to behold the clock-tower of 
Dover: we were only at about two leagues from the port, and 
the captain, warning the passengers that we were threatened 
with a crossing of thirty hours, advised them to take advant- 
age of a boat which was going on shore to send for some 
provisions. Of this opportune advice everyone gladly availed 
himself, and the boatmen willingly undertook commissions .... 
One tall, stiff emigrant, carrying his head very high, walked up 
to the coxswain, and giving him a guinea, haughtily ordered him 
to bring him some Cheshire cheese .... The sailor took the 
coin, said "Yes," and disappeared. 



The British seaman can be facetious when he likes, and his 
facetiousness is generally spiced with malice, especially when it 
is concerned ^^ith playing a prank up>on one of those " French 
dogs," against whom John Bull's bile is so easily aroused. The 
boat returned in an hour's time, and the poor emigrant learned 
that it had struck his mischievous errand-man as a good joke 
to buy him a guinea's worth of cheese .... A guinea's worth 
of cheese! and in England, where you can get this food for 
next to nothing, there was enough to form a quarter of a 
ship's cargo. 

The Frenchman fretted and fumed against the coxswain: he 
would have struck him, only he feared lest the other should 
exceed him in the art of fisticuffs. The Englishma&i replied, 
with all his national phlegm, ''It's not my fault; why didn't yoa 
say you wanted a shilling's worth or sixpenceworth of cheese ? . . . 
I thought as how you might want to make a store for your 
mates in the Royalist armies, who are used to eating cheese, as I'm 
told ; and so I spent all your golden guinea ! . . ." And the 
man of the sea turned his back upon the emigrant 

However the latter, nobleman though he was, abandoned 
himself to the most piteous sorrow, and declared to whomsoever 
would listen to him that tlie guinea which had just been so 
unfortunately changed into half a hundred-weight of Cheshire 
was all he had in the world, and that this amount was to have 
taken him, with the strictest economy, as far as Ghent Our 
countryman's situation was so perplexing, that he had not even 
any bread to eat with his wretched cheese: he was really to 
be pitied. 

But there was a providence on board which the disappointed 
Frenchman was far from expecting to encounter: that providence 
was Julie, my fellow-traveller. 

''That gentleman," she said, "has too great a Marquis de 

Tufieres air for us to be able to offer him money; but I love 

activity, as I have told you, and I feel inclined to go and offer 

to sell his cheese for him." • 

"What a poor joke!" 

"On the contrarj', he will think it a very good one if it 
succeeds, and we shall manage somehow to make it succeed, if 
we have to buy it up ourselves to feed the Channel porpoises with." 


" Wonderful woman ! " I exclaimed, squeezing Julie's hand. 

"To business," said she, leaving me; and I heard her offer 
the emigrant to become a cheesemonger on his behalf. 

" Upon my word, madame, you are too kind,*' he replied with 
all the grace with which, however haughty we be, we are 
bound to accept an essential service. " But how can you expect 
to retail on board this ship that enormous mass of evil-smelling 
merchandise ? *' 

"Forgive me, monsieur, I hope to succeed." 

**God grant it, madame!" 

"And send me plenty of cheese-buyers, monsieur." 

Julie set up her shop in the sloop, and behold Madame la 
Landgrave de Norkitten crying in French, in English, nay even 
in Prussian. "Who wants cheese? buy my cheese!" And the 
little cheesemonger was still so pretty, she showed such a pretty 
set of teeth as she cried her odoriferous goods, and her manner 
was so engaging, that in less than an hour she was sold out... 
The proceeds were counted, and came to six shillings above the 
cost price. And thus the emigrant proved to have made a 
lucky speculation while he thought himself ruined. This episode 
enabled us to spend a rather amusing hour, which was so much 
gained from the enemy, in other words, the calm. 

We had on board with us a young Parisian hosier, who had 
conceived the idea, since the Revolution, of smuggling silk 
stockings into England. His speculation had succeeded so well 
that he was taking back with him, he said, no less a sum than 
10,000 pounds sterling, all earned in less than three months, in 
spite of his having paid considerable sums to the gentlemen 
of the English custom-house so as to blind their eyes, in his 
interest and their own. The young bagman, thriving merchant 
though he had become, retained all the volubility of his former 
condition. He let off puns without number, knew Jeannot's role 
by heart, and was well-learned in the slang catechism. Each 
moment he would say, " Now you're going to laugh," but never 
saw his prediction realized because he was the first to laugh at 
his own jests, and thus took away your desire to imitate him. 
This rogue, as he described himself, had fastened on to us ever 
since the sale of the cheese, a jest, he said, which he would 
never forgive himself for not having invented. 


" Oh, I tell you, you're going to laugh," said our little hosier, 
after rummaging in a small hand-bag containing his papen. 
'' Here is a letter which was found in London in a room occu- 
pied last month by a German nobleman, tutor to Prince Louis 
of Prussia. * The letter is from Her Royal Highness the Prin- 
cess Anna Louisa, the young man's mother, and you shall see 
the style." 

And our fellow-traveller handed me the Royal document, 
which seemed to me worthy of preservation both because of 
its epistolary style t and as a biographical document. 

"14 September. 

" You will see from the enclosed that I have foimd m3rself obliged 
to send for that woman, who confessed to me that she had a 
daughter of fifteen with child by Master Louis, who had tdd 
her that his mother had given him leave to have a mistress, 
and tliat he would make the fortune of the mother and her 
daughter; adding that he had spent three weeks with her 
daughter during the carnival, namely at night, and that he was 
in arrears with her, had never given her a sol, and had left nothing 
behind him but the book of the operetta by Biron. 

"She begged me to pay for the expense of the lying-in 
and the keep of her daughter, who is to lie-in within six or 
seven weeks. She says she wrote eight times to my son without 
receiving a reply. 

"After taking some information, I learnt that an officer took 
my son to this creature and afterwards withdrew, but I cannot 
find out his name. He was fair and fat, whence I suppose 
that it was Schaek, Kolckenter or Avinsleben of the gendar- 
mes . . . .The last seemed to me too narrow for Louis (iii 
Princess ivas a ivoman ivho knew what to think of things)^ and 
it is the first two with whom he is the most intimate. 

"Next, my son went to the Bavarian woman, whom he has 
also had, and has stood under her windows talking with her, 

• The son of Prince Ferdinand of Prussia, brother to Frederic the Great 
Louis was bom in 1772, and was killed in x8o6 at the batUe of Saalfeld, by a 
French cavalrj'-sergeant 

* The execrable grammar and spelling of the French cannot be reproduced 
in a translation. 


and has led the same kind of life as with that beggar who says 
she is with child by him. 

**I made no other reply than that I did not pay my son's 
people, and that I did not know that either his father of I 
ever agreed that he should have a mistress (a very different 
thing if between ourselves I said to you that to keep him from 
a bad illness you could do as you thought fit), since I knew 
Louis was the man to glorify himself that this permission had 
been given him. But in any case you will not deny that it is 
right you should be instructed of these goings-on, lest he 
should fall into the gutter or into bad company; that he 
should not go out at night, which, in spite of the departure 
of the Saint- Yves woman, has taken place; and that all these 
dirty things have been, to which those people must have lent 
their hands. 

" I must add that my son is so insolent, that he never 
obeys his father's orders nor mine, going out at night for 
lewdness and going to Vogilsdorfe after having in the morning 
accompanied Mesdames de Maldzane and de Stasse. He has 
had the boldness, in spite of his father's wishes and mine, to 
behave like a libertine and go out at night, to go alone to a 
viskie ♦ where he might have broken his arms and legs, to 
join those ladies, who shut the door without seeing him, and 
drinking with the officers who were there, and going back at 
daybreak to Berlin. This conduct disgraces his parents and 
you who ought to watch over his conduct, his health and the 
decency which the Princes should observe. 

" I have hidden nothing from the Prince, telling him of all 
Louis' bad conduct, having taken a sacred oath to hide nothing 
from him, seeing that in spite of all I have done I have not 
been able to conect my son of his wildness, which so much 
influences his heart and his character that he forgets all his 
duties, all the obedience which he owes his parents; that he is 
becoming cunning, and a liar, and that it is no longer possible 
to trust him in anything. I shall not write to him, for it is four 
weeks now since I know if he exists, like his father, and I 
could have nothing pleasant to tell him. 

" Why, if Louis has a mistress or a wench, do you not say so, 

• Sic, Probably a carnage driven by himself. 
VOL. II. 14 


and let a creature come to him, instead of him running out; 
and as he should only consider that as a chamber-pot for his 
wants, as the men say (ah! Princess !!f) 

"Health and morality are connected, and leaving a freefidd 
to health, morality suffers and makes the soul and the heart 
impure and wicked: of which Louis gives an example. He 
may be a good soldier, play the harpsichord, have wit and 
accomplishments; but are there not other respectable branches, 
very essential to fulfil, which characterize a man and his 
qualities of heart and soul? 

'^ After inquiring who this woman is, it seems that Dame 
Engels is a woman who has played the bawd, who has kept 
wenches, who has sold her daughter for two louis a time to 
my son, and who has slept with all the officers of Gendarmes. 

"*■ I tremble at the thought of Paris and beg you to set spies 
and everything to work to know what Louis does; let him never 
go out witliout you, and tell the Duke that this is our wish, 
at least the service will oblige us. For now that Verdun and 
Stenay being taken, I am sure it will not be long before you 
are before Paris or in Paris. 

" The story of this girl of fifteen is surely a piece of beggarly 
trickery, and I believe that the officers of the Gendarmes have 
used her and that they put the child down to him : that is the 
result of keeping bad company. I finish this disagreeable letter, 
and will only assure you of my f>erfect esteem. 

"Your affectionate friend, 

"Anna Louisa." 

"Well," said our jovial hosier, when we had read this strange 
epistle, " don't you think that that great Princess would be able 
to hold her own under an umbrella in the Marche des Innocents?" 

"That is what I was saying to myself," I replied, returning 
him his letter, "and Her Royal Highness is certainly well- 
informed on the subject of which she discourses so pleasantly. 
I don't know who was her governess; but in truth I do not 
believe she can have devoted much time to teaching her good 
manners and good grammar. " 

"It seems to me," whispered Julie in my ear, "that the 



Landgravine of Norkitten was wrong in fearing that she would 
feel out of place at the Court of Berlin. *" 

" In any case, I should not advise Her Highness to write her 
Memoirs in French, like the Margravine of Bayreuth."* 

In expressing her discontent in so plebeian a fashion, the 
Princess Anna Louisa of Prussia calumniated her son somewhat : 
in many respects, which she did not take into accoimt, he was 
an exceedingly distinguished man, and eight or ten years later 
was esteemed as the eagle of the Prussian Royal Family. 

In a journey which I made to Germany after I had settled 
down in St Petersburg, I was charged with some commissions 
for this Prince, who was then at Magdeburg, his favourite resi- 
dence. I will invert the order of my souvenirs for a moment, 
since I shall not have occasion again to mention this personage. 

I waited upon him in this palace, which is situated on the 
parade-groimd, near the cathedral in which they preserve, as 
though it were a trophy of victory, a boot of the famous Tilly, 
vrho was defeated in the plains of Leipzig by Gustavus Adol- 

phus This boot, a mark of homage on the part of the 

Swedish King, did not restore to the ladies of Magdeburg all 
that they had lost during the sack of their city by the German 
general's soldiers, f 

I found Prince Louis in his dressing-gown, smoking his pipe, and 
stretched on a sofa in his study, which gave one the impression 
of a museum. He was passionately devoted to pictures and 
statuary; and on entering this room one particularly admired a 
certain figure of a recumbent woman whose exquisitely proporti- 
oned form offered to the sight ever)- physical perfection of which 
the fair sex is capable, even including those which the sculptors 
of antiquity thought proper to omit. § It was told of His Royal 

* WUhehnina. sitter to Frederic the Great. 

f The sack of Magdeburg took pla<,e in the Thirty Yean' War, on the roth of 
BCay, 1631; the capture of this cit^* was the great Imperialist general's last 
victofT. The defeat at Leipzig occurred a few months later in the same year, 
and Tilly died in 1632 at IngoLstadt, of wounds contracted in battle. He was 
a simple, disinterested souL. had been a Jesuit in his youth, and is said to hare 
deplored the sack of Magdeburg, which he ascribed, doubtless justly, to the 
orders giyen by Pappenheim, his subordinato. 

§ This statue would seem to have been exhibited in Paris from 18x8 to 1821 
at the Galerie des Beaux -Arts in the Rue de Choiseul. It had probably been 
brought to Framce during the war of 1806. King Frederic William III., travel- 
ling inc(^iiito, is said to hare visited and recognized it 


Highness that he used to lead the Prussian ladies before this 
figure whenever their virtue resisted more than usual to his 
tender instances; and detailing all the charms of the mazble 
beauty which he displayed before them, he seemed in a round- 
about fashion to defy them to sustain the comparison. The 
Prince knew women well : what neither his impassioned eloquence 
nor their own desires had been able to effect was almost in- 
fallibly brought about by vanity. 

Louis of Prussia received me very affably; he spoke to me 
at some length of the Court of the young Czar Alexander, 
who had just mounted the throne, subsequently changing the 
subject to General Buonaparte, then still First Consul, of whom 
he spok« with genuine enthusiasm. 

"It is a pity," said His Royal Highness, "that that great 
captain should be so ambitious; I do not think it possible for 
Europe to remain at peace with him. You see, England has 
just raised the standard of war, and torn up the treaty of 
Amiens .... and that power will compel us to enter the lists 
with her, for the sake of the gold with which she bribes us 
poor Germans .... Monsieur Leonard, the last German Prince 
will have to fall on the field of battle, with an adversary like 
Buonaparte . . . unless indeed some party should rise up against 
him in France . . . But what party ? . . . The Royalists arc all 
discouraged, or else chained like slaves to the First Consul's 
chariot .... Moreover, he knows how to stop too energetic a 
mouth with a gag of gold, and how to exile a head that is too 
clever .... I have just seen Madame de StaGl in the Valais; 

I spent a fortnight at her place at Coppet What a 

singular woman ! *' continued the Prince, with a lively 

transition in the tone of his voice .... "I should have fellen 
madly in love with her, had I only seen her at midnight, and 

only by the light of her wit But she had with her an 

angelic creature . . . ." And turning his eyes to a portrait hang" 
ing over the sofa, His Highness added with a sigh, "There 
she is ... . You have heard speak of Madame R^camier? " 

** Yes, Monseigneur." 

" That is her portrait .... a celestial power which would make 
one believe in the doctrines of the spiritualists.... a woman 
whose passions seem to issue from her very soul .... a divine 


body in which the fire of Prometheus bums in the region of 
the heart alone ... I should have gone crazy had I remained 
at Coppet. " 

The Prince went on to talk to me of St. Petersburg, of the 
Court of Alexander, and of some Russian ladies whom he 
appeared to have known intimately. Then he made me promise 
to come and see him before returning to Russia ; I did so, and 
took leave of His Royal Highness. 

At that time Prince Louis might have been thirty-three or 
thirty-four years of age. He was a gentleman of imposing sta- 
ture, agreeable countenance, affable conversation, and approved 
courage. Prussia suffered a severe loss when his presentiment 
was realized and he fell upon the fields of Saalfeid, beneath 
the sword of a French non-commissioned officer, who had 
offered him his life, which he refused. 

I return to the year 1793 and on board the packet which 
was carrying Julie and me to the Port of Ostende. 


The floating inns of the Low Countries — A revival of love — A •orrowfal sepm- 
tion — A sketch of the times — Monsieur's opinion on the revohitionarj CACt— 
and the advantages which his cause may hope to derive from then. 

AfTER a crossing which lasted no fewer than thirty-six houxs, we 
touched the Flemish coast. The whole cargo of passengeis 
spread out over the insipid town of Ostende. Early the next 
morning, my companion and I embarked in one of those floating 
hostelries which ply upon the canals commimicating between 
Ostende and Bruges, and then to Ghent and Holland. They 
are curious subjects of observation, those baiges in which a 
hundred or a hundred and fifty people are divided in different 
saloons, according to the price they pay for the journey. There, 
too, fortune has its prerogatives, and the travellers form three 
categories, to which correspond three various ordinaries, served 
at a fixed time. The first does not yield in sumptuousness to 
those of the best hotels in Brussels or Amsterdam; the second 
provides good middle-class fare; as to the third, there is no 
lack of ciuantity, but plain beef and the humble boiled potato 
are the onh' food served : between this table and the aristocratic 
first there is all the disuincc due to the difference between three 
livros and tiftcon sous. 

This was the means o( kx\>motion which Julie bagged me to 
aiiopt, in order that we might be the longer together, and I 
(. onscntoii with all my heart. . . , After a life spent in the most 
divcn;itioil adventures— vicissitudes, opulence, distress, experiences 
of all kin vis -the o.x-danocr had become one of the most admirable 
and oa]nivaiing women 1 have ever kno^Mi. To see her, in her 
t\xi\-stvond year, still so seductive, one believed in the fiaisdn- 
atious ol' NiuvMi. who Ixvamc old without ageing. 

Wo spent m^ire than a nionih in .Amsterdam, after I had 



finished the business which had brought me to that capital, before 
we spoke of parting, and even then we sought to persuade our- 
selves that there still remained things to be done in Holland. 
In this way a further six weeks passed by in a revival of 
love in which I had up to that time refused to believe. What 
I also learnt for the first time was that when old bonds 
are refastened they can never again be broken off. . . . While I 
write these lines (181 2), Julie, who must be over sixty years of 
age, occupies all my thoughts; and I truly believe that if I were 
to meet her again, I should still be in love with her. 

However, reason ended by compelling us to part. My duty 
called me to rejoin the Princes, and moreover there must 
be many letters waiting me at the different addresses I had 
given in Germany. Julie on her side reproached herself with 
having delayed so long before proceeding to Poland. "Friend 
Leonard," she would say, "it is no longer Delvinski's person 
that attracts me: our love is worn threadbare; but our two 
destinies seem bound to lend each other their mutual support: 
we were ruined together, and together we must once more tempt 
fickle fortune. After pleasure enjoyed in conmion, exertion 
undertaken in common is the natural consequence." 

When Julie had finally made up her mind to go, " I will take 
ship for Dantzig," she said. " One should always hasten voyages in 
which one has regret and sadness for sole travelling-companions." 

" And I will leave at the same time," said I, kissing her, ** so 
as not to find sadness and regret lurking ill every comer of 
this lodging which we have occupied together." 

** You are right ; after any separation, the person who suffers 
most is the one who remains behind." 

I took Julie on board the ship which was to bear her away 
from me, while the horses were being put to a carriage I 
had purchased. The postilion was in the saddle; and the 
track of the ship was still visible on the surface of the sea, 
when my carriage was rolling along the road to Brabant 

When I reached the Royal army, it had been forced to beat 
a retreat. The line of the Rhine was threatened in more 
spots than one by those who were contemptuously called "the 
carmagnoles^^ and the head-quarters of the Princes were at 


Although the outlook of the emigration was anytliing but 
favourable, I found Monsieur in great spirits. 

''Our affairs are taking a good turn, Master Leonard," said 
His Royal Highness: "the Jacobins have triumphed over the 
Girondins and expelled them; the latter are retaliating, civil 
war is raging in Calvados*; a heroine called Charlotte de 
Cordayt has just stabbed Marat; and I have every reason to 

hope that the Mountain is about to split Yes, I already 

anticipate divisions between the followers of Robespierre and 

the Dantonists On the other side, Lyons is in revolt; Fiicy 

has undertaken to raise the banner of the fieur-de-lys; and 
Toulon has proclaimed my nephew Louis XVII. The name 
of that child would be of use to us, if only the Queen woukl 
understand the interests of the Monarchy better, and would 
once and for all convince herself that it is not possible to 
conspire in prison .... 

''Egad, my dear Leonard, if I was quite free to act as I 
pleased, I would let things take their course imtil the Republic 
perished through its own excesses or its own follies, and the 
latter would probably be the most expeditious means. What 
is one to think, for instance, of such people as those whose 
frenzied pathos in favour of Robespierre I have noted down in 
my scrap-book: 

"One 'longs to satiate his sight and his heart with his 
features, and with a soul electricized by his Republican virtues, 
to take home with him the fire with which that great man in- 
flames the universe.' 

"Another describes him as 'the incorruptible genius who 
sees everything, foresees everything, and baffles everything, and 
who is neither to be bought nor deceived.' 

" A third calls him ' the fasces of all the virtues,' and unites 
to him, 'You who sustain the tottering country against the 
torrent of despotism and intrigue, you whom I only know as 
I know God, by his miracles, I do not know you; but you 
are a great man . . . .Blessed be Robespierre, blessed be the 
worthy imitator of Brutus, and may the civic incense smoke 
upon the altar which we are raising to him.' 

• A department of Normandy, and Charlotte Corday's country, 
f The prefix is rarely seen when this lady is referred to ; vet she was of the 
noble family of Corday' d' Annans. 


**I turn the page," continued M. le Comte de Provence, "and 
I find that a delirium of ideas has passed into the language. I 
learn that an assassin accredited to the departments by the 

Moimtain to slice off heads is *a master-b whose decrees 

shall live as one of the greatest historical monuments of the 
revolution/ The estates of the emigrants are no longer national 
property : they have become * the assignat-engraving-plate.' And 
the hangman has become Uhe mint-master of the republic.' 
This is the way in which the very language is being 'sans- 
culottized,' as Saint-Just says— a madman of twenty-six, just 
escaped from school, and puffed out with his pitiful erudition, 
believing himself predestined to regenerate the human race by 
*sans-culottizing* it ... . Just listen to this school-boy: he reads 
in Montesquieu, whom he does not understand, that a certain 
people allowed itself to become corrupted by luxury, the off- 
spring of commerce and the arts. Next he reads in Lyciugus, 
whom he understands still less, that a people of heroes was once 
formed within a circumference of a few thousand stadia .... 
And then see this maniac, this clumsy copyist of antiquity, 
without examining into questions of locality, habits or population, 
applying what is inapplicable, and crying to the people of France 
in a tone of self-sufficiency which would be comic were it not 
so stupid, *It is not the happiness of Persepolis, it is that of 
Sparta which we have promised you!* 

** I repeat, when lunatics such as that come to govern a people, 
the best thing is to leave them alone. The Republic will be 
ended still sooner because of the heads that are turned than 
because of those that are cut off." 


I meet the famous Baron Trenck — The truth concerning his Memoin — Thetd> 
venturer's plan of campaign — He is guillotined — Revolutionary deliiium — Conda- 
sions drawn by the Comte de Provence. 

M. L£ Comte d'Artois rarely set up his head-quarters in die 
same town or village in which Monsieur fixed his. I visited 
His Royal Highness in a small ch&teau, about a league from 
Paderbom, which the Prince occupied with his principal officeis. 
I met in his closet an old man six feet high and as dry as 
Voltaire was at the time when he received the nickname of 
Diaphane. Nevertheless, he retained a rather fine face, de^ite 
a certain shiftiness in the eyes which troubled one and repelled 
confidence. All modest and silent though my entrance was, it 
succeeded in interrupting a recital which the old giant had 
begun; and doubtless on this account, he cast at me a glance 
that was far from benevolent. I was not surprised when M. le 
Comte d'Artois told me that I saw before me M. le Baron de 
Trenck, whose marvellous Memoirs had caused all Europe to 
prick up its ears. "That German," said I to myself, "can pride 
himself upon having written a goodly number of gasconnades, 
and I see that, judging from my accent, he guesses that he 
has encountered a rival in the Princes' army." 

"It is incredible, monsieur le baron, what you must have 
suffered during your thirty years of imprisonment,** ♦ resumed 

* Frederic Baron Trenck was bom in 1716 at Koenigsberg, and j<mied tiie 
Prussian army. He became the lover of the Princess Amelia, sister to Fredcsk 
the Great, who imprisoned him in 1745. He escaped to Moscow where he 
became the lover oi a Russian Princess — he was a man of very diitingiiiihed 
personal beauty — and next went to Vienna, where he inherited the foitane of 
his cousin Francis Baron Trenck, the Pandour leader. In 1753 he again feD 
into Frederic's hands at Dantzig, was imprisoned for years in the citadel of 
Magdeburg, and treated with very revolting inhumanity'. He was gniDotined 
in 1 794. The memoirs referred to were translated from German into French and 
published in Paris in 1788. 



His Royal Highness, after welcoming me with his customary 
kindness, "and prodigious what you must have done to escape 
from captivity .... the expedients of Latude * are nothing in 
comparison. But now tell me frankly if it is all true . . . ." 

•* Yes, Monseigneur," replied the baron, laughing, ** it is all ... . 
prisoner's truth, which somewhat resembles travellers'." 

" I thought so," replied the Prince. . . . "And so these almost 
miraculous escapes. ..." 

" Were due to two great enchantments : gold and a woman's 
temperament. ..." 

" I understand, the Princess Amelia of Prussia, who loved 
you. . . ." 

" Your Royal Highness ought perhaps to say, who appreciated 
me. . . . The Princess Amelia bribed the jailers lavishly to 
have neither eyes nor ears, and thus quite naturally removed 
the bars which I am supposed to have sawn through, opened 
out the subterranean passages which I am said to have brought 
about by enchantment, and placed rope-ladders against the 
walls which I am believed to have scaled. But Your Royal 
Highness will easily believe that these vulgar methods would 
have made but a small effect in my Memoirs; and I arranged 
all that in a fashion more pleasing to the taste of the public. 
That, Monseigneur, is the whole truth." 

"And when you had succeeded in escaping? ... ." 

"Then the Princess, in spite of the orders of her illustrious 
brother, raised Your Highness's servant to Royal rank and 
privilege, even more positively than she did Voltaire, who was 
obliged, it is said, to leave Berlin, lest the skin of a poet should 
be added to His Majesty's collection of curiosities in natural 

" It would seem," resumed M. le Comte d'Artois, " as though 
Frederic the Great were very jealous of that sister. ..." 

" More jealous than a husband, Monseigneur." 

"And why?" 

* H. Mazers de Latude was imprisoned in the Bastille by Louis XV. in 1 749. 
when he was 24 years old. His crime consisted in endeavouring to obtain the 
protection of Madame de Pompadour by informing her of a non-existent plot 
against her life. In spite of numerous and persistent efforts to escape, he spent 
35 years in various prisons, the Bastille, Vincennes and Bic^tre, and was not 
released until 1784. After Uiat, he published his Memoirs. He died in Paris in 
1805, at the age of 80. 


" Kings, mon Prince, give themselves liberal dispensations in 
matters of morality." 

*' So that His Prussian Majesty was merely getting rid of a 
rival, finely built as you must have been at thirty yeais oC 
age. ..." 

''And Your Royal Highness must also understand what a 
serious matter it is for the Princess to disobey the King's 
orders in this respect. Fifteen years of my life wca^ spent in 
a constant succession of imprisonments and escapes. Later, 
Frederic II. caused me to be imprisoned through spite .... which 
was anything but regal conduct." 

"And now, monsieur le baron," said tlie French Prince, with 
all the grace which distinguished him, ** how do you come to be 
with our array? I believe you are attached to the troops of 
His Imperial and Royal Majesty." 

"I am so no longer, Monseigneur. The ministers of the 
Empire are of the same way of tliinking as the Princess Amelia: 
they see an officer's merit in his physical prowess, and I am 
nearly eighty years of age." 

"But failing your arm, your head might still serve the 

"It is in that thought of Your Royal Highness's that I 
venture to place my hope, and I make bold to believe that if 
Your Highness will deign to look into this plan of campaign, 
you will come to the conclusion that the Baron de Trenck may 
be of service to the Royalist cause." 

" I promise, monsieur le baron, to read it with the greatest 
attention, and to let you know my speedy decision." 

The famous adventurer, doubtless persuaded that his plan was 
ensured the general assent, retired full of confidence, repeatedly 
bowing with the very long and already p>assably convex line of 
his vertebral column. 

Not many days after this audience, I heard that Baron 
Trenck*$ plans of strategy had been examined by competent 
officers, and proved to be nothing more than a concatenation 
of fantastic tactical dreams, more than a century behind the 
times. The crude production was returned to tlie ex-favourite 
of the Princess Amelia, who, incensed at the small account made 
of his masterpiece, proceeded to France, doubtless hoping that 


his military conceptions would be better received by the Republic 
than they had been by the Royalists. After a sojourn of 
some months in Paris, and despite his having donned the red 
cap, the old man was taken either for a spy of Coburg's, which 
he was not, or for an intriguer, which he had forgotten how to 
be, was thrown into prison, and perished on the scaffold a few 
days before the 9 Thermidor. 

Four months sped by since my return to the Princes' head- 
quarters, and each morning I asked myself what I was there 
for, without being able to find a satisfactory reply .... For I 
may now confess frankly, I was unable to attach an idea of 
unmingled satisfaction to the department of banker which had 
fallen to my share in the Royal army, an honour which in truth 
I was very far from ever soliciting .... Already more than half 
the capital I had brought with me from France had passed into 
other hands, very illustrious hands, no doubt ! but nothing could 
seem to me less safe than this investment, and I should never 
have chosen it for myself. But noble borrowers abounded on 
every hand. All of them had known me in France; all pre- 
tended to have recommended me: the one to his sister, the 
other to his mistress, a third to his niece .... and of all these 
gentlemen I might have said: 

Si j'en connais pas un, je vetiz 6tre pendu. 

But I did not say it, and my poor louis continued to dis- 
appear with terrifying rapidity. 

At this time, while I was sorrowing over the sad fate which 
made me the cashier of the emigration, with no better security 
than a mortgage on the mists of the Rhine, I received the 
most distressing news: my poor brother Vilanot had been guil- 
lotined by the revolutionaries; all my possessions were confis- 
cated; and my theatre had become national property and was 
put up for sale. 

Lucette, who sent me these afflicting details, had been very 
nearly murdered for taking my interests too warmly to heart. 
Fortunately she had friends on the Mountain. She escaped 
imprisonment, but her friends told her that, be she as pretty 
and witty as she might, she must abstain in future from defend- 
ing the partisans of Pitt and Coburg. 


Lucette's letter, which reached me by a route which the re- 
volutionaries had not discovered, contained a highly-coloured 
picture of the horrors of the Revolution, and I showed it to 
M. le Comte d'Artois, who wiped his forehead several times as 
he read it, and returned it to me, saying, "This is horrible!" 
I next showed it to M. le Comte de Provence. His Ro}^! 
Highness read it with great attention, and to my unspeakable 
surprise, I saw a smile on his lips the whole time .... In a few 
moments the Prince explained his thought to me: 

"My lad," said he, according to his familiar custom, "this 
looks well .... yes, yes, this looks well : do not look so sur- 
prised .... A few more months of this reign of blood, and our cause 
is gained .... Those scoundrels are following in every detail the 
plan which I would have laid down for the Revolution in order to 
be quickest rid of it . . . Soon they will have exhausted those whom 
they call the traitors, the tools of the tyrants; and when that 
is done, they will look in their own ranks for enemies to destroy. 
A few months ago, they only wished to expel their rivals in the 
Girondin faction: very soon they will commence to chop down 
the ver>' branches of the revolutionary tree. You will see 
them cutting one another's throats; like the pelican, they wUl 
draw blood from their breasts to feed the Terror .... and then 

the end will come Yes, Leonard, if ever I ascend the Throne 

of France, as is probable, for my nephew will fall beneath their 
blows, with my niece, my sister-in-law and my sister, should 
it happen that any of the terrorists survive the fury of their 
own party, I shall salute them as they pass as the most active 
restorers of the French Monarchy . . . .We leam much fix)m 
experience, friend Leonard: the foreign Powers see in us but 
the pretext of their ambitious rivalry with France: they ^Tsh 
to degrade her, not to raise us ... . Have they made an effort 
the more since the assassination of my unhappy brother ? has 
the Emperor of Germany organized an extraordinary levy now 
that the Queen, his aunt, has been transferred to the Concier- 
gerie, that antechamber of execution ? . . . .And the emigrants, 
do you think I rely on their constancy ? You see for yourself, 

Leonard, how it has given way See them dispersing like 

partridges before the guns: some have become parasites or buf- 
foons in the Courts of Germany, others are building chalets in 


Switzerland and propose to make cheese with their own noble 
hands. This one paints snuff-boxes at Brunswick; that other has 
turned bacon-curer in Westphalia. Nay more, let the Mountain 
to-morrow decree an amnesty and the restitution of confiscated 
property, and you will forthwith behold the avengers of my 
brother, the upholders of my nephew, deserting, in the pro- 
portion of seven out of ten, the banner of the fieur-de-lys under 
which they have sworn to die . . . .My poor Leonard, one must 
take men for what they are worth, and only rely upon them 
in so far as one recognizes in them the presence of sufficient 
guarantees. Now here we should require that of constancy, and 
as we cannot reasonably expect that from the French temper- 
ament, I much prefer to place my hopes in the scene of that 
frenzy which, by demolishing everything, will promptly place 
me in a position to build everything up again . . . .An afflicting 
picture, doubtless ; but though it excites in us, now, the shudder 
of terror, it offers us, in the near perspective, a period of calm 
and serenity, hidden at present behind the great storm-clouds 
which are bursting over France in a rain of blood . . . .Alas ! 
such is the eternal order of nature: it is by destruction that 
its works of wonder are renewed . . . .The worm gnawing at 
the corpse in its coffin contributes to produce the flower glowing 
with youth and colour which will soon spring upon the grave. 
State policy deplores these fatalities; but it makes use of them 
to attain its end."* 

Thus spoke Monsieur to me at Paderbom towards the end 
of 1793. It was possibly such freely expressed opinions as 
these which gave rise to the numerous erroneous and malicious 
reports current at that time. There were many who believed 
that the Prince kept up a correspondence with Robespierre; that 
the dictator, amid the bloody saturnalia of the Terror, was only 
playing Monck to Louis Stanislas Xavier of France, and that 
his essential mission was promptly to efface the seventeenth of 
the series of Louis who have reigned over France. 


Death of the Queen — How the Princes received the newt — Some paper* in 

Robespierre's handwriting seized upon the person of a French oflEicer Curious 

notes of his political opinions — A letter from a Spanish ambassador — Extraordin- 
ary details contained in it — A deputy's loire-a£fairs — New detaik conrenung 
the Queen's last moments — The trial and execution of Madame Du Barrv. 

Towards the middle of October, we received at the Princes' 
head-quarters the gloomy news of tlie execution of the Queen* 
with all the details of her sublime agony. It was at this supreme 
moment that the dazzling halo of martyrdom spread itself over 
the stains cast upon the life of Marie Antoinette by an ill* 
guided, ill-counselled youth. They will disappear in the eyes 
of the nation, they will vanish from its remembrance, in com- 
memoration of that heroic death .... unless indeed, if destiny 
should restore the throne to the descendants of Henri IV., they 
should be incited by unreflecting adherents to deeds of venge* 
ance. That would be an unfortunate idea; for then, without 
having participated in the murder of the Royal victims, the 
nation would feel bound, not to justify it, but to bring before 
the tribunal of history certain unexceptionable tnitlis which would 
diminish the compassion attached to the memory of Louis XVI. 
and Marie Antoinette. In vain would starveling writeis be 
subsidized to declare the innocence of these august i>ersonage«, 
whom their martyrdom has absolved : resentment would unearth 
their whole lives, in order to protet^t the nation from being judged 
by p»sterity as having (ountenanced an act of assassination 
directed against the purest innocence. 

Moreover, should wc ever witness the re-birth of those lilies 
of France whose last vestiges have at the moment of writing 
(1S121 been devoured by Nai>olron*s l>ees, the .sur\iving Bour- 
Imihs would do well to cast a veil of forgetfulness over the 
murder t*\ that angel of purity, Madame Klis<ibeth, and over the 

23 1 


mysterious end of young Louis XVII. There is a well- 
recognized truth which kings should always keep present before 
them : nations never consent for long to have wrongs attributed 
to them by their sovereigns .... For nations never forget that 
they are able when they please to take back the sceptre which 
they have placed in the hands of one man. 

M. le Comte d'Artois felt the keenest sorrow at the news of 
the death of the Queen and of Madame Elisabeth. Monsieur 
displayed a more stoical, more resigned grief .... "I expected 
it," said His Royal Highness, seriously. ** Events are taking the 
course which I foresaw." 

At the moment when Louis Stanislas Xavier of France learnt 
the news of the death of Madame Elisabeth, * and was penising 
with moist eyes the touching details of that divine creature's 
last moments, they brought to His Royal Highness some papers 
seized on the person of a Republican officer who had been taken 
prisoner. The first document which the Prince opened was 
entirely in the handwriting of Robespierre; it was believed that 
the soldier on whom it was found was a relative of the celebrated 
revolutionary. I was permitted to take a copy of this document, 
as of several others; here it is: 

"What is our aim? — To execute the Constitution in favour of 
the People. 

"Who will be our enemies? — The rich and the vicious. 

"Which are the means they will employ?— Calumny and 

"Which reason may favour the use of these means? — The 
ignorance of the sans-culottes. 

"We must therefore enlighten the People. But what are 
the obstacles to the instruction of the People?— The mercenary 
writers who lead it astray by impudent and daily impostures. 

"What other obstacle is there to the instruction of the People? 
— Misery. 

"When therefore will the People be enlightened ?— When it 
has bread ; when the government and the rich cease to subsidize 
pens and tongues to deceive it; when their interest is confounded 
with that of the People. 

* Madame i^lisabeth was murdered on the 22nd of April, 1794: the Queen 
on the X4th of October, 1793. 

VOL. II. 15 


" When will their interest be confounded with that of the 
People ? — Never. 

"What conclusion are we to draw? — First, we must proscribe 
the writers, as the most dangerous enemies of the People." 

On reading these words the Prince exclaimed, *You sec, 
gentlemen, that the Republican dominion has no other methods 
of government than those which it calls tyranny." 

"Secondly, we must distribute good literature lavishly." 

"What other obstacles are there to the establishment of 
Liberty? — Foreign war and civil war. 

"What method should we employ to terminate foreign war- 
fare?— We should set Republican generals at the head of our 
armies, and punish those who have betrayed us. 

"And to terminate civil war? — Punish traitors and conspira- 
tors, especially the guilty deputies and administrators; employ 
Patriot troops, under Patriot leaders, to subdue the Aristocrats 
at Lyons, Marseilles, Toulon, in the Vendee and Jura, and 
wherever else the standard of rebellion and Royalism has been 
hoisted; and finally make terrible examples of the scoundrds 
who have outraged liberty and spilt the blood of Patriots." 

Another note in Robespierre's hand was thus conceived: 

"There must be one will.... one alone; and it must be 
either Republican or Royalist. 

" For it to be Republican, we must have Republican ministers, 
Republican generals. Republican deputies and a Republican 

"Foreign warfare is a mortal disease, so long as the body 
politic is sick with the revolution and the division of wilts. 

"Internal dangers spring from the middle-class; in order to 
defeat the middle-class, we must rally the People. Everything 
was prepared to place the People under the yoke of the middle- 
class and to bring the defenders of the Republic to the scaffold. 
They triumphed at Marseilles, at Bordeaux and at Lyons. 
They would have triumphed in Paris but for our present revo- 


** The present revolution must continue until the necessary 
measures for the safety of the Republic have been taken. The 
people must ally itself with the Convention, and the Convention 
must make use of the People. 

" The insurrection must spread from place to place ; the sans- 
culottes should be paid and remain in the towns ; they must be 
provided with arms, be stirred up and enlightened. 

"Republican enthusiasm must be exalted by every possible 

**If the deputies are dismissed, the Republic is lost. They 
will continue to mislead the departments, while their substitutes 
will be no better. 

**We should form alliances with the small powers; but these 
will be impossible so long as we have no national will.** 

**If that man is seconded," said Monsieur, after reading these 
notes, **it may be long before we return to France. Demago- 
gues do not fall by the excesses which cause them to be abhorred, 
but by the disorder that renders them vulnerable. . . . Now 
Robespierre thinks of everything, and the methods he suggests 
are good ones. ... I should select the same, were I of his 

Then, after glancing through another document, His Royal 
Highness exclaimed, "Oh, here is something concerning the 
late Queen, my poor sister-in-law; this explains her removal to 
the Conciergerie and her being brought to trial : it is an extract 
from a reservado letter from the Spanish Ambassador at Venice, 
Cleroente de Campos, to the Due d'Alcuida, the Spanish Foreign 

"In that case," exclaimed I, in my turn, "how can it have 
reached Robespierre?" 

" Intercepted by his agents .... or someone else, " replied 
the Prince. And His Royal Highness read out the whole ex- 
tract, of which I took a copy later, as I also did of the preced- 
ing and following extracts, in consequence of a circumstance 
that I will relate presently : 

" Your Excellency will have learnt that on the 3rd of July 
the young King was separated from the Queen. The leaders 


of the Marat party, who are very strong on the Committee of 
Public Safety, took this step unknown to the remainder of the 
Committee, who, having no cognizance of the measure ordered 
by the Marat party until after it had been carried out, dared 
not raise any opposition. The Royalists believe that this plan 
was thought of in order to give credit to the intrigues of the 
Queen who was every moment exposing herself to ruin, in ^ite 
of the advice which has been conveyed to her and which it is 
very difficult to continue to give her at present, owing to the 
severity and closeness with which Her Majesty is confined, this 
being occasioned by what I am about to tell you. 

"The Commune pretend that there is in Paris an agent of 
the Prince of Cobourg* who is in intelligence with the Queen; 
that Danton and Lacroix, who were of the Mountain party, 
have joined the Girondins, and that they have had conferences 
with Her Majesty; that this agent of Cobourg's is a cousin of 
General Ferraris; that he moves about freely in Paris, going 
from place to place on foot, for better concealment; and that 
on the 7th of July he left at night-time, carrying with him let- 
ters from the Queen which, in order to reach him, must have 
passed through the hands of a commissioner of the Temple, 
in whom Her Majesty thought herself able to confide. The 
wretched man carried tliem to the Commune, who took a copy 
of them, and it is with these doctmients that the Commune pro- 
pose to denounce the Queen before the revolutionary tribunal. 
They have drawn up an indictment containing seventeen counts." 

''And that," said Monsieur, with a quick, p>assionate gesture, 
''that is the cause of the resistance I encountered at Vienna 
when I implored the Powers to give me a position and a title 
which would have made my mission a worthy and fruitful one; 
when, by means of a definite and well-weighed policy, I might 

have saved my unhappy brother and the Queen herself 

This is but too true, Leonard; Marie Antoinette, by her ill- 

* Frederick Prince of Saxe-Cobourg, a general in the Austrian lervice. He 
defeated Dumouriez at Nerwinde and drove him out of Belgium, bnt ww 
in his turn defeated by Moreau and Jourdan and compelled to resign his 
command. He withdrew to his principality of Aldenhoven, where he £ed in 
1 81 5. His name used to be coupled in the popular execration of Republican 
France with that of Htt. 


advised intrigues, by that inexperience which has always presided 
over all the actions of her life, has undone her whole family .... 
for the unhappy oniss who remain behind in the Temple will 

perish too .... unless " Here His Royal Highness ceased ; 

and then, resuming the extract from the Spanish Ambassador's 
letter, he continued to read: 

"Meanwhile, on the nth, there came the news of the disso- 
lution of the Committee of Public Safety and of its renewal : 
nine of the principal followers of Marat were appointed to it; 
Marat himself is president and Robespierre secretary. But as 
fortune will have it, there is among these nine a staunch Royalist 

• • • 


At this moment I thought I heard His Royal Highness mutter, 
Egad, I know about him . . . . " Monsieur continued : 

" I have reported to Your Excellency the liberty which I took, 
acting for the best, to instruct the State Inquisitors (of Venice) 
of Semonville's mission. * Neither this man nor his companions 
have as yet appeared. They have apparently been instructed to 
retrace their steps, to judge from the orders given at diverse 
podestades. I have just been informed that Semonville carries 
with him two millions' worth of diamonds stolen from the Crown 

"What a well-informed ambassador," said Monsieur, with a 
bitter smile, and continued: 

" General de Salis, t who has heard of it, and who has much 

* Charles Louis Huguct, Marquis de Semonville, was sent by the Republic as 
Ambassador to the Ottoman Porte, in succession to the Comte de Choiseul- 
GoufiBer, whose intrigues with the French Princes were well-known. He travelled 
to Constantinople vi& Italy, and was doubtless expected to embark either at 
Venice or Naples. He was accompanied by Maret, later Due de Bassano. 
There would seem to be no vestige of truth in the insinuation that Semonville 
was the bearer of the diamonds stolen from the Wardrobe. 

-f* Charles Ulysse de Salis, 1728 — 1800, filled several important offices in the 
Grisons Republic. He eventually arrested Semonville and handed him over 
to the Austrian government who exchanged him together with other prisoners 
in 1795 for the daughter of Louis XVI., the future Duchesse d'Angoul^me. 
Semonville was a remarkable specimen of the trimmer of the good old school. 
After serving the Republic, he declared for Buonaparte at the 18 Brumaire and 
was appointed successively a Councillor of State, Ambassador to Holland, and a 
senator. In 18 14 Louis XVIII. created him a Peer of France, and appointed 
him Grand Referendary of the House of Peers. He was the first incumbent of 


influence in Valtellina, has advised a number of his confideDtia] 
agents, mentioning to them certain defiles where they migfat 
hope to come across this rapscalhon and relieve him of hit 
papers and his diamonds. The Aichduke of Milan on his side 
is doing all he can to assist this project." 

"And he succeeded," said M. le Comte dc Provence. "But 
Sefior Clemente de Campos does not know everything .... and 
I am gbd of it, egad! Nothing is so dangerous in important 
business as those officious newsmongers." 

The documents seized on the person of the French officer, 
Robespierre's relation and doubtless his agent to the armies, 
included other papers worthy of attention. Monsieur glanced 
through them, and folded them up without communicating thar 
contents to me; but after reading through a note that brot^t 
a smile to his lips. His Royal Highness said to me: 

"Would you like to have an idea, Ltenard, of the monG^ 
of your Patriot representatives and the delicacy of their amoms? 
You can gather it from this report of one of Robespierre'i 
agents." And the Prince read aloud: 

" On the 6th of Messidor, on leaving the National Convendtm, 
the deputy Thuriot went to Number 16, Rue d'Orleans-Saint- 
Honor^, a furnished house. He remained there about twenty-five 
minutes and left at lialf past eight o'clock with a citizeneas in a 
puce-coloured gown, a large shawl with a coloured border, a 
white skirt, and with a white handkerchief arranged upon her 
head in such a way as to form a kind of cap. 

They went together to the Jardin Egalite,* which they walked 
round three times, talking in a low voice .... Then they turned 
down the avenue of limes, and there Citizen Thuriot gave a 

kiss to the citizeness of the Rue d'Orl^ns-Saint-Honore . 

They next went to Number 163, Place Egalit^, where they stood 
talking an instant at ihc door, and returned to the aforesaid 
Jardin Egaliti, where they walked round the galleries, subae- 
quenlly returning to the same Number 163, Place Egalit£. There 

oHli-B. and 

ho contin. 

>cd lo hold it 


of Louis 



age of 8s. 

Formerly the garJco 

of Ihe I'*l 




they supped .... They went in at nine o'clock, and at eleven 
they had not yet been seen to come out .... We then retired, 
presuming that they intended to stay." 

All the documents which Monsieur had read out to me on 
this occasion fell into my hands when the Prince had become 
King of France and, after setting up his Court at Verona, found 
himself compelled to retreat before the victorious legions of 
Buonaparte. He had to leave the town precipitately, as he had 
left Verdun in 1 792 ; and in this case, as in the former one, the 
archives were left behind, and I gathered them together. 

To return to this time, that is to say at the end of December 
1793, I received a letter from Lucette containing harrowing 
details of the death of my unfortimate brother, the martyrdom 
of the Queen and the execution of the poor Comtesse Du 
Barry, together with that of the banker Vandenyver and his 
two sons. 

"Would I could find a desert in which to spend the rest of 
my life," wrote Lucette. "Ah, how I regret the smiles which 
I have lavished on those monsters! How I hate myself for 
granting them my favours! .... Leonard, I have become a 
Royalist I think .... and yet I am not sure ; for I know that 
among your party there are many deplorable passions too. Had 
this been otherwise, they would at least have saved that unhappy 
Queen, whom the cannibals dragged to execution in a cart 

after a slow agony of misery, privation and outrage The 

wretches! I have seen them laugh because one of them found 
her whom they used in derision to call the superb Antoinette 
seated on a bench in the Conciergerie mending her stockings .... 
But my heart melts and my pupils ache with tears when I 
remember that two hours before climbing the scaffold the Queen 
martyr, watched like a poor doe by one of those hounds of 
Gendarmes, was unable to obtain permission to be left alone 
to change her body-linen, and that she was obliged to stoop 
down behind her mean bedstead in order to escape the cyni- 
cal gaze of her keeper. 

" Madame Du Barry is less worthy of interest, no doubt, and 
is yet interesting because of her benevolence and the good 
qualities which incline one to forget the errors of her life. 


She followed the Queen closely to the revolutionary tribunal: 
the blood of Marie Antoinette had barely dried upon tlie 
scaffold, when it was covered by that of the ex- Favourite 

"This is the stoiy of her trial. One Georges Gicyve, an 
inhabitant, I believe, of the village of Luciennes, fell desperately 
in love with the countess, who, in spite of her forty-two ytaxt, 
still retained her beauty and all her fascinations, as you dis- 
covered in London, my dear Leonard, to judge from reports 
which have reached me. The declaration which this man 
ventured to make to Madame Du Barry was repelled with indig- 
nation and di^ust. In vain he promised her protection ar.d 
safety if she would listen to him: she persisted in her refusal 

" Enraged by the resistance of the ex-Favourite, Greyve detei- 
rained to ruin her. He succeeded in obtaining particulars of (he 
sums formerly paid on Madame Du Barry's accotmt by the bankei 
Beaujon, * and lost no time in carrying it to the Committee of Public 
Safety as a proof that the mistress of Louis XV. had squandered the 
State treasure. By dint of pestering the members of the Committee, 
Greyve ended by obtaining an order for Madame Du Barry's 
arrest. He consequendy arrived at her house on the morning 
of the 22nd of September 1793, accompanied by the municipal 
officers of Luciennes and two Gendarmes. Seals were first affixed 
to all tlie dodts ; and then Greyve made the countess step into 
a hackney-coach, changing with her subsequently into a common 
cab and leaving the Gendarmes in the first carriage. The moment 
seemed aaspicious for a renewal of his instances. He even 
endeavoured to force his victim, continuing to protest that by yield- 
ing she would be assured of hb protection and would save all 
her property. There are favours," continued Lucette, " which at 
times we are delighted to grant, and which at other times, and 
under other influence, we refuse, even at the risk of everj- peril. 
Madame Du Barry, without stopping to think of the danger she 
was incurring, persisted in her refusal. An hour later, she was 
locked up at Sainte-Pel^e. Her charming seat at Luciennes 
was at once confiscated, with all the treasures it contaiaed. 
although the hiding-place of many of these remained imknown. 

* Nicolai rieaujon was Coort banker undpr I.ouis XV., and pMcnled tha 
Vandenyvpn. He Tounded the bupiUl railed by h'u name in th* nibtub of 
Roule near I'aiu. 


" But in order to ruin the countess, an act of accusation was 
needed. Greyve and one Heron, a retired naval officer, denounced 
her officially to the Committee of Public Safety, after adding to 
their own depositions those of a negro called Louis BenoTt Zamor, 
formerly in the service of the accused, and of the Jacobin Blache, 
to whom she had been liind in London. Upon a perusal of 
these documents the Committee of Public Safety ordered that 
Jeanne Vaubernier, Dame Du Barry, be immediately brought 
before the revolutionary tribunal, there to be tried as an emi- 
grant (which she was not), and for giving assistance during her 
journeys to England to the enemies of the Republic. 

" On the 22nd of November, the unhappy woman was brought 
before Dumas, vice-president of the tribunal, who submitted her 
to a long and searching interrogatory; and a fortnight later, on 
the 7th of December, Madame Du Barry and the three Van- 
denyvers underwent their trial together, as participators in the 
same crime. All the countess's denmiciators gave evidence 
against her: one of those wlio perhaps did most to insure her 
condemnation was Foutnier, a builder and justice of the peace, 
who had placed the seals upon the valuable contents of the 
chiteau of Ludennes. He bore witness that a number of articles 
of value, as well as a considerable amount of specie, had been 
found concealed in different rooms and in the garden. The 
tribunal look a deliberate note of this witness's evidence. 

" The sitting ended, despite the efforb; of an accomplished 
advocate for the defence, in the condemnation to death of 
Madame Du Barry, The same sentence was passed upon M. 
Vandenvyer and his two sons, ail convicted of complicity with 
the enemies of the State. 

" However Foumier's evidence had aroused the cupidity of 
those who had taken it. At the moment when the unfortunate 
countess was going to the scaffold, a hope of life was held out 
to her if she made a complete revelation of all the treasures she 
had hidden and of the places in which they were to be found . . . 
Jeanne Vaubernier delivered full particulars, and so soon as she 
had done so, a fierce voice behind her cried, ' March ! ' 

" The detaib that have been gathered concerning Madame Du 
Barry's last moments need not suq)rise us in a woman whose 
maiD element was voluptuousness, and whose character was a 


luxurious combination of flexibility, weakness, and love of enjoy- 
ment . . . However, she maintained her courage before her judges. 
Whether it was that she was too convinced of her innocence to 
dread condemnation, or that she hoped to purchase her life by 
the loss of all her wealth, she replied to the revolutionary tri- 
bunal with coolness, presence of mind and evenasortof finnness. 
But all her resolution vanished when she perceived the £atal 
tumbril which was to convey her to execution, with the Messieuis 
Vandenyver and the Conventionnel Nofil . . . She turned pwile and 
livid, her features became distorted; in a few minutes she was 
quite unrecognizable ... A few moments before, she had been 
a beautiful woman ; now the ex-Favourite was no more than a 
living corpse ... In vain her companions in misfortune endeav- 
oured to give her courage; she broke down utterly and looked 
around her with a lacklustre gaze. ... At last, at the Place 
Louis XV, the poor creature's mind left her entirely . . . She 
was heard to cry, *Help! help!'... Alas! had any help come 
a few weeks since, to snatch a Queen of France from her exe- 
cutioners ? When Jeanne Vaubemier had been dragged on to 
the scaffold, she recovered enough presence of mind to say to 
the executioner, in pitiful tones, * One moment more, I beg you, 
monsieur . . . ' But this last word was drowned in the flood of blood 
that suddenly inundated the beautiful neck in which had nestled 
the kisses of a king." * 

• The ft)llowing ingenious defence by the author of the rocentiy puUished 
Life and Times of Madame du Barry is worth quoting here: "The difficoltj 
of pleaMng everyboily," says Mr. Douglas, "was recognized thousands of yean 
before the fable of the Old Man and his Ass w:is ever penned. If Da Banj 
had died with a scornful smile upon her lips» we should just as certainly haie 
heard that a long caretT of vice had blunted, if not destroyed, her conacieiice, 
and that she showed as cynical an indifference to death as she had ahrajs 
done to virtue or religion .... If Du Barry showed cowardice in her last mo- 
nH*nts, there were physical re;Lsons for it, and there were no moral motiyes to 
make her brave. She had not, as Marie Antoinette had, the pride of race, die 
^co^l of outraged dignity, or the poignancy of sorrow; or like Charlotte Corday, 
or Madame Roland, the sense of being a martyr for a cause she deemed holy. 
On the other hand, she w;is a woman in magnificent health, strong and active 
of body, and of no great ment'd power — in short, a healthy animaL Under 
ordinary circumst'inces she would no doubt have lived for another twenty-fire 
or thirty years ... It was ;is natural fi>r her to struggle for life as it is for 
the bird to peck at the hand that comes to Like it out of the trap.*' 


The situation of France and the armies — The plight of the emigration — Events 
in Poland in 1794 — Kosciuszko and Count and Countess Delvinski — A military 
decoration on a woman's breast — The two fugitives — A conversation on politics 
and a narrative — Departure for Italy — Separation. , 

Passing over a period of about eighteen months, which had no 
influence upon my destinies except in so far as they diminished 
my pecuniary resources, I come to the year 179.5. At that 
time great events had been accomplished in Europe. The Reign 
of Terror in Paris had come to an end; the violent measures 
of Thermidor had swept from the Mountain the reptiles that 
hissed upon its summit, and had regenerated the Convention and 
brought to the front the better-minded members of that assembly. 
The victory of Fleurus * had opened to the French troops a 
road towards Belgium, which they had followed up by entirely 
reconquering that country. The capture of Maastricht had 
delivered the entrance to revolutionary Holland to the Republican 
legions, who kicked over the half-throne of the stadtholders and 
founded a Batavian Republic which was tolerably well received 
by the Dutchmen. The Duke of York, the defender of that 
country, had found a very opportune place of refuge in his 
ships. The Batavian Republic was preparing to sign articles of 
peace with the French, t as was also the King of Prussia. In 
the West, Charette § and his brave Vendeans were submitting ; 

♦ 26 June 1794 (8 Mcssidor Year II). General Jourdan, commanding the army 
of the Sambre-et-Meuse, defeated the Imperialists under Coburg. This was the 
third battle fought at Fleurus, a little town some seven miles from Charleroi. The 
fourth and last, in which Napoleon routed Blticher, is better known as the Battle 
of Ligny. 

"f The wave of republicanism (in the French sense) that swept over the people 
of Holland was of the most transient. Before then, and since, the mass of the 
nation has always sided with the aristocracy in a deep-rooted affection for the 
House of Orange; and political dissent is only to be found among the trading 
or middle class. 

§ Francois Athanase Charette de la Contrie was bom at Couff6 in Brittany in 



StufBet* aad his Chouansf were Heeing before the Republicans, 

in spite of the general's personal intiepidity and devotion 

Moreover the defeat of Quiberon left little hope to the Ruyatist 
bands, which had not yet seen Louis XVIII. 's proclamatioD.$ 

The Rhine was crossed in everj' part by the French. Jourdan 
and 'lie army of Sambre-et-Meuse and Moreau with the aimy 
of R h in- et- Moselle were advancing by forced marches towards 
the Danube. No part of the emigration could find shelter and 
safety in Germany. The soldiers of the Emperor agreed as little 
with the noble volunteers of the Royalist army as did that 
Sovereign's generals with the French commanders. At one time 
the 'Archduke Charles and General Wurmser had hoped to be 
able to combine with the Prince de Conde in their operations 
for marching on Parb, after purchasing the defection, first of 
Pichegru and then uf Moreau; but the vain pretensions of His 
Serene Highness, who insisted upon points of precedence with 
the foreign armies, dissipated all the hopes to which this com- 
bination had given rise . . . Monsieur, who after the death of Louis 

1763, nml br<-amc n lioutt^ant in the navy, tn 179) he [dar«] hinudf at the 
hcaJ uf Uw Vi'Qili'^in ppiuanti of Machccoul in Poitou, and together wWh C». 
thrlinrau tni)k patt in tiu- ni^gn of Nantr* and Lu^nn, both of whith endnl 
fatallv flic the RnjraKri cauao. Diictird broke out betwrai the Royalbt chie^ 
imd C:haT(>ttp, with his diviunn, Irft tht army. Aftt'r he wu rrdnced to lighting 
alono, hr prrfiainrd a line d'nt ii[ aniu in ^c capture uf the RE^blican camp 
at S.iint-Chriiluph<', ni-ar Chilians, in 1794. In 1796 hii fntde forcn wnc 
entiroly di'.stl»yi'd In- General HoihR; he hinuelf wai tahm priionn and ihot 
at Nantn. 

■Nii'ulaH Stoffli't wa» Iwni at Lunl^Ue in 1751, and lerred ai a ptiTate in 
the army Kir 15 yrna. In 1793 he jiiini>d the RoraliMi in the Vender, diilin- 
guisbed himM'lf in a nurohi-T 'rf enifagenients, and i>»Hitualij', at the death ofLa 
Kochvjaequolin, lio<-june ptt^neral uf the Royaliit trixipi. He alio had hii difler- 
encm with Chatrtte, and i-ndiil by ni.ilang poaee »ith the ConvcBtioD opoo 
fiuilr Kuod i-ondidnni. At the instigatiun of the Comti^ d'Aitoii' agents, howem 
he tHuk up anni again in 1796. TUs time he w.a taken, anij (hut at Aagen. 
Liniis XVni. had ernifl-rred upi.n him tile rank of lieutenant-general. 

-i- Chiniaiu wat tlin name given during the wan of the Vend^ to the pcaianit 
iif Urittinv anil Bai-M:iiue who waged a guerilla warfaio for the King. Giadn- 
allv th<: tenn wan applieil tn all tlu- Vcnd^ans. Thev wi-re w caUed after thrii 
lint leader, Jean Cetteteau, niiJinauied it Chouan {ciai-kuanl, bootiDg-cat) fron 
thi' eat-eall whieh wai the tallying-ery of hii iulluwen. Cottercan, a cobbln of 
Laval, fint oi^aniied thi> Chiniam in 1791- He wa< (lain in an cnooantoi witb 
tile Riiiuliliean tnwps in 1794. 

)} 17 June 1795. A triHip of enrigranti, eouimanded liy d'Hervillj and Paujt 
bud i^w-mbarked .ind iK'iini Fort I'entliievre; but they were hemmed in npoa 
the peniniula. by Hiithe and nttrrijr Iwuten. The Comte d'Hcrrilly wai nuntillf 
vroonded and iimvi'ved back tn Lnndiin, where he died. Ai to the Conle d« 
Ihiisan-, lu- ban bii'n Iihi geni-rallv aei-uied of treiu-heiy upon thii occaiiDO ts 
lean-'mueh dimirt on the inatbT. He ntumed M Kngland, became aatataliicd. 
' n 1817. Hii jurtificatory Hernia 

lislied m Lonilun in 1803. 



XVII. * had proclaimed himself King of France and Navarre as 
Louis XVIII., had sought refuge in Italy. His Court was estab- 
lished at Verona, while Charles Philippe of France wandered 
to and fro between Germany and England, and from the latter 
country to the islands adjacent to the theatre of war in Brittany, 
upon which His Royal Highness could never make up his mind 
to descend. 

Before following the King to Italy, I must make a short mention 
of an event which had just taken place in Northern Europe and 
in which my friend of twenty-four years' standing had played 
an amazon's part, following in the footsteps of Count Delvinski, 
who had become her husband under the banner of the insurrection. 

The march of the French legions towards the Elbe and the 
Danube had suddenly revived the hopes of the Poles, whose 
nationality had become no more than an empty word, a shadow, 
which the Empress Catherine II. permitted this people, struck 
out from the roll of the Powers, to caress. But the horror of 
their enthralment was fomenting in every Polish heart; the 
despotism of the Czarina had subjugated but not subdued them . . . 
They waited for events And when the standard of a repub- 
lic floated in the very heart of Germany, when they beheld 
the soldiers of liberty marching along unimpeded, they said, 
"Let us rise, we shall be seconded." And suddenly a strong 
man, a man of Scythian resolution, a heart bronzed with patri- 
otism rose from the crowd and said to the Poles, ** Let us march 
against the troops of Catherine and make them feel the claws 
of the white eagle t." This man was Kosciuszko, the former 
comrade of Washington, § one of the defenders of Polish liberty 
at the time when the powers were loading it beneath their 
yoke. And when the insurgents had by acclamation proclaimed 
Kosciuszko for their leader, a soldier still young, but proved 
in the fight of his country against her oppressors, issued from 
the ranks, and said, "General, take me for your aide-de- 
camp." It was Delvinski. ** "Count," replied the hero of Du- 

•8 June, 1795. 

f The Polish emblem. Vide supra^ p. 160. 

§ Kosciuszko served as Washington's adjutant during the so-called War of 

**The original editor here appends a foot-note sajring, "We here inform our 
readers, somewhat late in the day, that this name, conceals that of a Polish 
nobleman who played an important part in the wars of Europe. The adventu- 


bieka, * "you shall not be my aide-de-camp but my second 
in command. Your modesty has prevented you from suspecting 
that I have already thought of you." 

Julie was standing by Delvinski's side. Kosciuszko's experien- 
ced eye divined her sex beneath her lancer's uniform. The 
general smiled upon her with all the affability which his austere 
and swarthy features were capable of reflecting, and said, "It 
is well, madame. In the great needs of the countr)', there is 
no such term as woman; and I like to see your sex foreswear 
its weakness in the hour of danger." 

" General," replied Julie, ** I thank God I have none to foreswear.** 

" Forgive me, madame : one naturally expects to find a woman's 
character in one who possesses all a woman's charms." 

It was not without cause that the Polish insurgents hoped that 
the march of the French troops might assist their struggle for 
liberty. It was evident that this invasion, at the very moment 
when Catherine II. was preparing to march her troops into 
Poland, must needs disquiet her generals, and that the Empress 
would be compelled to detach at least a portion of her army, 
not so much to protect her own states, which had nothing to 
fear from the Republicans of the South, as to fulfil her obligations 
towards the Emperor and England ; and this diversion could not 
but be favourable to the Poles. 

A tacit alliance was accordingly concluded between the de- 
mocratic Republic on the Seine and the Oligarchy on the Vistula, 
despite the vast disagreement between the principles of the two 
countries. But such was always the fate of the unhappy Poles. 
Ever since the first dismemberment of their stormy Monarchy, 
they were unable to form with the powers any but the most 

rous (.-ircnimstanccs which wcro mingled with his more warhke ez|4(»ts, drcum- 
stinces faithfully rt'latod in the preceding chapters, forbid us to name him moce 
fully.*' The pn^ent editor suggests that thcportrait is intended for Pnnce Joseph 
Puniatowski, the nephew of Stanislas II. Tiie d.itcs tally with bar oocrectncM. 
Pi)niatowski was born in Warsaw in 1763, began by senring in the Aistrian 
army, returned to Pohind in 1789, commanded the I\>Ush troop* in 1792. and 
meeting with opposition from the Diet in each of his operations, left Poland and 
did not rt-turn until 1794. He then took service under Kosciatzko, but was 
again obliged to expatriate himself. He was known as the "Pdiah Bayard,** 
and was of a romantic temperament On the other hand, as Fooij^oinki 
drowned himself in the Elster in 181 3, there is no reason why he should not 
have been named in the Souvenirs de Lt^onard in 1838. 

* 1792. Hrre Koseiuszko s<'rvcd under Poniatowski, who was then commanding 
in chief, as stilted al)ove. 


monstrous alliances, which cost them torrents of blood without 
bringing them the slightest political advantage. 

Nevertheless Kosciuszko soon succeeded in bringing together 
some fifty thousand men under his command. The fortune of 
war was at first in his favour; he defeated the Russian columns 
in engagement upon engagement; Delvinski, fighting under the 
orders of the generalissimo, covered himself with glory, which 
was frequently shared by Julie, whose hand, which had formerly 
found tlie garlands of the Opera too heavy a weight to carry, 
now treated a sword stained with the blood of the enemy as 
the most trifling plaything. I eagerly followed in the newspapers 
the exploits of a woman whom I had formerly loved with pas- 
sion, and whom I now loved with pride. One day my heart 
leaped with joy on reading that the Countess Delvinski, after 
taking a Russian colonel prisoner with her own hand, had received 
the Cross of the White Eagle from Kosciuszko. 

But it was not long before I read the details of the sanguin- 
ary battle of Macijovice, where the brave Poles had been cut 
to pieces by the united armies of Count Fersen and General 
Souvaroff* . . . .* 

Kosciuszko, covered with wounds, was picked up almost life- 
less on the battle-field and taken to Russia, where Catherine 
plunged him into a dungeon in the fortress of Schlusselburg. t 
It is probable that the Empress would never have forgiven the 
Polish general for his attempts to conquer the liberty of his 
fellow-countrymen, and that he would have died in prison; but 
the Czanna herself died within thirteen months of the Battle of 
Macijovice, and Paul I., more appreciative of nobility of charac- 
ter, gave Kosciuszko his liberty. § 

Delvinski and Julie were both wounded, and were furiously 

* Paul Alexis Vasilievitch Count SouvarofF, a brilliant and most inhuman 
general. After his victory at Macijovice he entered Warsaw; but first made a 
terrible massacre of the inhabitants of Praga, on the opposite bank of the 
Vistula. From this massacre the population has not to this day recovered: and 
Praga is a place of much less importance than it was in 1794. After a very 
victorious career, Souvaroff was at last defeated by Massena in 1799. He was 
recalled to St. Petersburg and died in disgrace (it is said of discontent) in 1800. 
He was then seventy years of age. 

t On Lake Ladoga, 20 miles from St. IVtersburg; the same prison in which 
the Czar Ivan VL was detained from his dethronement in 1741 until his death 

in 1765- 

§He died at Soleure in Switzerland on the 15th of October, 1817. He was 
fif^-one years old. 


pursued by the Cossacks. They were, however, better mounted 
than their pursuers, and succeeded in escaping at night-fall. 

One spring evening in 1 795 I was preparing to leave the town 
of Augsburg, in which I had sought refuge in order to travel to 
Italy, vid the Tyrol, and rejoin H. M. Louis XVIII. at Verona. 
It was about nine o'clock when a knock came at the door of 
the Grape Inn, where I was staying; I opened the door mysdf, 
and recognized .... Count and Countess Delvinski. 

** Yes, it is we,** said Julie, throwing her arms round my neck, 
"two Polish insurgents, defeated and fugitive. Fortune has 
deserted our banners, and we have come to you for assistance, 
my old friend. For France alone can offer us an asylum, and 
we have not the means to get there." 

"Julie reckons too much on your friendship, M. Leonard," 
said the count, looking at me somewhat distrustfully. *The 
cause which you serve does not permit you to succour the 
defenders of a people." 

** The countess has shown more judgment than you, general,** 
I replied, giving Delvinski my hand : ** friendship has no {X)liti« 
cal opinions ; I will assist you if needs be at the risk of my life. 
But you have nothing to fear in this town; it is the common 
refuge of all parties. Augsburg shelters emigrants, patriots, Royal- 
ist and Republican agents alike. All of these intrigue, each on his 
own behalf, with the assistance of the Jews, who are vct}* nu- 
merous here, and who recognizing no master except gold, serve 
with equal zeal all the dispensers of that metal." 

"But we have none,** said the count, shaking his head, 
"and " 

" Leonard has, ** interrupted Julie briskly. 

" And that is sufficient, '* I added, in my most obliging affirm- 
ative, " but not for to-night. You look very much fatigued, and 
I must first see to your supper and your lodging for the night..." 

"You are taking a terrible responsibility upon yourself, my 
friend," said the countess, letting herself fall upon an ottoman 
with all the languor of a person worn out with fatigue; "if your 
lawful King came to know that you had succoived two Polish 
insurgents who, to crown their infamy, are on their way to 
France to serve the Republic, your credit with His Majesty would 
be seriously compromised. ** 


"It would be more correct, countess, to say His Majesty's 
credit with me .... " 

The count gave me a look of surprise, as he sat down by 
Julie's side. 

"I understand what Leonard means," said she, with a smile. 
"Credit is a thing accorded to him who borrows by him who 
lends, and it is this latter part which our friend plays at the 
Court of the King of France and Navarre .... Ah, but when 
the army of the Princes, and the Austrians, and the Russians 
(who will now come on a little faster since there are no Poles 
left for them to fight), when all these have passed over the 
bodies of the little " carmagnoles " of the Republic, the King will 
make a great man of you, and you see how great a reliance I 
must place in your friendship to come and ask you for the 
means to go to the assistance of His Majesty's enemies and 
thus retard your reward." 

"As you know, dear countess, the principal bond which at- 
tached me to the Royal cause is broken " 

" Ah yes, that was a sacred cause," said Julie, with emotion 

" Poor Queen, you owed her all your devotion, and you served 
her faithfully too. Had all the world acted as you did, Marie 
Antoinette would be still living. As to the others . . . . " 

•* I serve them through a sort of infatuation for which I have 
never been able to account, and for which nevertheless I have 
already been prettily punished by the Republic .... I have 
nothing left in France. " 

" We are going there, Monsieur Leonard, " said the count, 
with persuasive frankness; "you will have two friends there at 
least, and in the courts of the Revolution friendship is seldom 
barren. " 

During this interview the people of the inn had laid the 
visitors' supper. I saw these Germans cast curious looks upon 
my guests : they clearly could not conceive how I, who stood 
high in their consideration, thanks to the lavishness of my 
expenditure and the dignity of my travelling-equipage, could 
find myself upon terms of intimacy with two poor devils whose 
boots covered with dust and holes, whose worn and ragged 
clothing proclaimed poverty and a long journey on foot .... 
Two or three "monsieur le comtes" which I purposely uttered 

VOL. II. 16 


during supper made my friendly relations with the newcomers 
seem more natural in the eyes of these worthy Augsburgers. 

When we were once more alone, Delvinski related to me 
how, in order to reach Augsburg along a thousand by-vi-ays 
and with infinite difficulties, he and the countess had been 
compelled to sell their horses and arms to the Jews, who 
according to their custom had bought all this after the fashion 
in which the ingenuous Israelites always buy from those in 
need, that is to say for nothing ; how they had barely sufficient 
money to bring them to Augsburg; and how he, a general of 
the Polish army, had often had to share a scanty piece of 
bread with Colonel Niebert. . . . 

" Yes, my friend, " said the countess gaily, ** you can hardly 
have expected, when you saw me in London twisting between 
my nimble fingers a rose or jasmine-stalk, that in three years 
time I should have conquered, dearly upon my word, the fuU 
grade of colonel on the field of battle. Such a thing would 
generally be looked for only in a romance ; but revolutions, my 
dear Leonard, compose more wonderful romances than any 
novelist. " 

My friends* arrival delayed my departure by some da}^. 
Both the count and countess stood in need of rest, and meantime 
I was making enquiries as to the safest means to get them into 

France without risk of being apprehended The result of 

my investigations went to show that it was almost impossible to 
cross the frontier on the German side without being regarded 
either as a spy or as an emigrant trying to penetrate into the 
territory of the Republic in order to betray it. Undoubtedly 
the Polish refugees had a prompt and ready explanation to 
offer; but the representatives of the people attached to the 
army were not always disposed to listen to ** suspects, " whom 
they had a way of provisionally shooting, by express order of 
the pro-consuls. 

I learnt on the other hand that in the army of Italy, which 
■ was stationed in the Genoese Riviera, the Republican forms were 
less severe, because Lombardy and the small Italian republics, 
with the exception of Venice, showed but little favour to the 
cause of the King. It was decided that the count and countess 
should travel across the Tyrol with me ; we would then separate 


in Italy, they to join the French army, I to rejoin the Court 
of Louis XVIII. at Verona. 

We left Augsburg after my friends had enjoyed a week's rest. 
Let me say here, to satisfy the conscience of the scrupulous, 
that during this week Julie was nothing more to me than 
Colonel Niebert, pure and simple ; I exercised the duties of 
hospitality nobly and conscientiously. No equivocal word 
passed between the countess and myself; not the shade of a 
remembrance was uttered concerning our stay in Holland : the 

rights of Hymen were amply respected My generosity was 

free from the smallest stain of self-interest, and I inscribe in 
fine white letters upon the records of my life the assistance 
accorded by Leonard the Royalist to the revolted Poles about 
to volunteer into the armies of the French Republic. Never- 
theless, when I rejoined the King, I made no boast in his 
presence of what I had done for Count and Countess Delvinski. 

We arrived at Genoa, a mart of all the merchandise and all 
the opinions of Europe. There we found soft-spoken Italians 
who lisped offers, in the Zenese tongue in my friends* ears to 
lead them to the French outposts, without any risk, across the 
marble rocks which line the gulf. They confided themselves to 
the care of these guides, and prepared to take leave of me. 
I could only induce the count to accept a very insignificant 
sum from me. " We are becoming Republicans, " said he, refusing 
several rolls of louis d'or which I had offered him : " we must 
limit our requirements. " In this respect many of the emigrants 
had furnished me with very substantial proofs that they, on the 
contrary, were Monarchists. . . . The count and countess left me 
with every assurance of gratitude ; I did not see them again 
until 1 814. 


The Court of Louis XVIII. at Verona — Letters patent written at the end of tlie 
eighteenth century in the style of the sixteenth — A Latin epitaph composed bv 
Louis XVIII. — The biography of His Majesty's aunts — The King dereriy lean 
up to a request for money. 

I FOUND Louis XVIII. organizing his Court at Verona, and 
appointing his ambassadors. Kings have their favourite weakness, 
their "hobby,** as Sterne calls it, just as other men. The 
hobby of the exiled King was to sit upon a throne, no 
matter where, and in despite of the circum$tances which pre- 
vented him from erecting his throne upon the only soil where 
it was good for anything. When waiting upon the King, one 
was struck with the saddening contrast between his sovereign 
grandeur and the extreme modesty of his Household. The 
descendant of Henri IV. occupied part only of an ancient 
building called a palace, by a strange abuse of the word ; * 
worm-eaten furniture, worn-out arm-chairs in faded red velvet, 
with their horsehair stuffing escaping at the comers ; a few 
footmen clad in patched and threadbare Royal liveries ; two or 
three hungry-looking officers, in shiny uniforms and boots veiy 
much down-at-heel, walking up and down a dismantled ante- 
room in the quality of Noble Guards ; a kitchen which remained 
calm and cold even at midday : such was the painful situation 
of the Court at Verona. All this was due to the habitual 
negligence with which His Majesty's Royal Allies dischaiged 
the pension which they allowed him, and in which Austria 
toc^k no part, since she refused even to acknowledge Louis 
Stanislas Xavier as King of France. 

The first time I saw the King, he was personally drafting 

* It is no more an nbust? of the word to call u private house a 
Italy than an AtJ/f/ in Franco! 



one of the first acts emanating from his newly-acquired Royalty : 
letters patent, in the carefully preserved style of the sixteenth 
century, granting his favourite the Comte d'Avaray the right, so 
often solicited in vain by the greatest lords in the Kingdom, 
to bear the fleur-de-lys in his arms. 

His Majesty held me a long and very eloquent discourse on 
this subject and upon the gratitude due from kings to their 
faithful servants ; and with a copious assistance of Latin quota- 
tions, which I had the misfortune not to understand, the King 
proved to me that his favourite was the one of all his subjects 
who had shown him the most devotion, especially on the 
occasion of the stealthy departure which His Majesty described 
as his escape from the ** prison " of the Luxembourg. This event 
had not occurred so long ago that I was able to agree with 
the King ; I clearly recollected that his journey from Paris to 
Coblentz had been effected very freely, without the slightest 
obstacle, and that the only calamity which His Royal Highness 
had encountered on the road consisted in his having to sup on 
roast veal instead of rich game : an inconvenience which history 
will never admit within the category of an alarming catastrophe. 
Nevertheless, this was the reason most explicitly expressed 
in the letters patent despatched to M. le Comte d'Avaray ; and 
it was also one of the principal reasons which later procured 
him the title of duke, as is recalled in that nobleman's Latin 
epitaph, composed by the King's own pen. * 

* Here the original editor appends the following very wise and sensible foot-note : 
*' Despite the interest which the reader may take in this epitaph, we thought 

it tight, in order not to delay I^onard's narrative, to make it Uie subject of a 

note. Here is this tombstone composition, and the translation which His Majesty 

made of it himself." 

The present editor proposes to go further, and to omit the translation. Here 

then follows the "tombstone composition": 













While the Most Christian King was according to M. le Comte 
d'Avaray the most splendid testimonials of his gratitude for 
having resigned himself to eat roast veal in His Majesty's com- 
pany on the road from Paris to Coblentz (see the account of 
this journey written by the King himself), His Majesty stood in 
great need of some one who would establish a claim to hb 
gratitude for less delicate but no less real reasons, in other words 
by lending him a little money to enable him to waim his 
kitchen upon occasions and to assist his Noble Guards to have 
their boots soled and heeled. I knew that there was nothing 
more glorious than to pour out one's louis d'or in the service 
of the Monarchy; but I had already poured out a good many 
in this direction; and I had privately made up my mind at teait 










• admissus. 
ut sanctos emicitia nexus, 


















gratiti'dixis pigxu.s 
mo:rens POSUIT. 


to wait in future until I was asked for the loans which I had 
formerly proffered of my own accord .... I am able to declare 
to-day (181 5) that I was in no way the gainer by this change 
of attitude. So many vicissitudes have passed over the lives of 
the King and his august brother that they have just as little 
kept an exact note of the money for which they asked me as 
of that which I oflfered them. 

For the rest, I had so intimately identified myself with the 
Royalist cause that I did not see how I could without disgrace 
separate myself from it. Things were taking such a turn at the 
close of 1795 that it seemed to me very unlikely that Louis XVIII. 
would be able to move his Court to Versailles in the near fu- 
ture, and my ruin appeared to me to be not far oflf. Not that 
this greatly alarmed me. I had allowed myself to be seduced 
by Julie's philosophy, and I said to myself, " Well ! when I have 
exhausted my last resources, I will stoically turn my steps back 
to their origin : I will go to St. Petersburg, where the fine man- 
ners and the curls of the reign of Louis XV. have taken refuge, 
and there resume my comb." 

One evening, the King deigned to display towards me the 
most charming familiarity, and was pleased that I should assist 
alone at his couchee. All who have tnown Louis XVIII. well 
will remember that it was his habit to prepare with infinite art 
the subject to which he desired to call attention; and when this 
subject was his own person, one of his favourite methods was 
to throw up the latter into relief by drawing a parallel in which 
others were ordinarily very badly treated. 

" The late Queen, my sister-in-law," said Louis XVIII. to me 
that evening, "sometimes opened her mind to you, Leonard, 
on the subject of her likes and dislikes. I will wager that she 
told you more than once that she disliked me." 

"Never, Sire." 

"And yet it is true that the Queen had an aversion for me, 
and I will tell you the reason : I clearly saw that she had been 
instructed by her mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, to annul 
our credit, the credit of us Princes of the Blood, as far as she 
was able; and you will agree, Leonard, that Her Majesty ac- 
quitted herself with tolerable thoroughness of the instructions 
'which she had received. 


"Ah, I had many a lance to break in my youth, and my 
precocious reason earned me many a rebuff. For instance, the 
Princesses my aunts bore me no love, because I often uttered 
ideas and opinions diametrically at variance with theirs, which 
were rarely noted for common-sense. I waged war jo)'ously too 
upon their absurdities, and this in no way contributed to win 
me their affection; and yet, in truth, there was often mote 
reason for my spite than for their annoyance. 

" The education of my aunts was at first very much neglected. 
The nuns at Fontrevault, * to whom Louis XV, had entrusted 
them, as they interfered with his pleasures, taught them nothing 
at all: Madame Louise did not know her letters at twelve years 
of age. This Princess was gay, careless and fond of amusement ; 
and I am inclined to think that, following the example of the 
Duchesse de Longueville, t it was not the innocent amusements 
that attracted her the most. Madame Louise hunted the deer 
like a whipper-in, in fact in this pastime she rivalled her father; 
nor was she behindhand with him in the dexterity with whicli 
she could toss off a flagon of deUcate wine. There has been 
much speculation concerning the motives which induced Madame 
Louise suddenly to join the Carmelites, at the age of twenty- 
three : she has even been suspected of having had love disap- 
pointments and even repentance. . . However that may be. Her 
Royal Highness took the veil in 1770. It was presented to her, 
by her desire, by the Dauphiness Marie Antoinette; and she 
adopted the name of Sister Theresa of St. Augustine. 

" On her death-bed she seems to have remembered her rank, 
for her last words were, 'To Paradise, quick, quick, at fiill 
spwed,' absolutely as in the days of lier worldly life she might 

* A Bdifdictui'- mnnnstccy ninr milt-g frnm Saumnr, fonndfd ro the ck-mA 
eivtuiy, containing both monks and nuiu, .ud alwayi governrA bv *a abbes. 
Thc^ comniunitr was brcikrn up in 1S04 und the abbey tranifonnfll into a 
pcnibTtiarv. This it itill n-main». 

t ADne 'GcnpTii'TO dc Bou[b<m-Cnnd>>, the tiitn cif tbc Giand-Cinid^ ud of 
thr I'lincr df Cooti, wai born in 1619, .tad wai ifinarkablc far hn brantr. 
hrr grsKf and hor wit. She dcrolcd hiTsolf heart and wral to both political and 
anioriiiu inliigw, and numbcri'd among hcc lorcn Tuimne and Ln Rochefoucauld 
(th™ I'riniT de Manillar), both of whiim ihc aurcenlrd in pmbniiling with tb» 
CuuiL The L-ittcr mmpiiiied thi- follawing impiinu Trii« in her honour: 
Piiur mi'ritiT »>n ctcur, [hhu plain' i nt beaux yc<ut> 
J'ai fait la gwrie aiu r.>is. je l'»urai> faitc am dinii. 

Hit plots H-rro di-f^atid bv Cardinal Maxaiin, and in hnr lit bnmow ud 
politi.-.-il iiupol-'nct' thi' n-ithdW from Ui<- wwld. She died in i67«, at Ihr 
Cannolit.- cimiTnt in tho Faub-iurg Sjiint-Jacqms. 


have said, *To the Opera, and don*t spare the horses'. I do 
not know to which coachman Sister Theresa of St. Augustine 
fancied herself in her last moments to be giving her orders. 

** Madame Adelaide, the eldest of the Princesses, was impe- 
rious, violent and obstinate beyond description. Here is an 
incident which I witnessed one day when I had gone to see 
Mesdames at their convent The dancing-master mentioned to 
them before me a new minuet, known as the Rose-coloured 

"*I should like to learn it,' said Madame Adelaide, *but I 
want it called the Blue Minuet.' 

"'Your Royal Highness's wishes,' replied the dancing-master, 
laughing, * cannot alter that : it is only known in society by the 
name of the Rose-coloured Minuet.' 

" * Yes, but when the daughter of a King wished a thing . . . ' 

" * I will agree, if Your Highness pleases, that blue is a more 
agreeable colour than rose; but I should be laughed at if I 
spoke to my pupils of a Blue Minuet.' 

"*Blue! blue!' cried Madame Adelaide, purple with anger, 
and stamping her foot on the floor. 

" * Rose ! rose ! ' replied the master. 

***In that case I will not dance...' 

" * I appeal,' retorted the professor, * to the members of the 
community present.' 

" * Very well, ' said the Princess, * so be it/ 

" The nuns as you may imagine, agreed with my Aunt Ade- 
laide: the minuet was rechristened, and Madame danced it. 

** On her return to Court, the violence of Madame Adelaide's 
character was further displayed in her tastes. She insisted 
on being taught to play on every musical instrument, from the 
horn to the Jew's harp. I, little princeling that I was at the 
time, used to laugh at her when I saw her puffing out her 
cheeks like Boreas to blow down a copper tube, or imitating a 
shoe-black as she played upon her vulgar jew's-harp. At the 
same time she took lessons in Italian, English, mathematics, 
watch-making and turning; and of all this she never knew the 
least thing, as I had very respectfully prophesied to her, to her 
great annoyance. Madame Adelaide was absolutely without 
gentleness in her character: her brusque manners, her harsh 


voice and her quick way of speaking made one almost afraid to 
converse with her. She carried her idea of the prerogatives of 
her rank to a pitch of folly. One of her chaplains one day 
said, ^ Do minus vobiscum' in her presence a little carelessly; 
whereupon she rudely apostrophized him as soon as mass was 
over, and told him to remember that he was not a bishop yet, 
and to refrain from officiating as though he were a prelate. I 
overheard this remark, shrugged my shoulders and gave a little 
skip: my aunt never forgave me that skip! Through taking an 
inordinate amount of exercise, Madame Adelaide succeeded in 
destroying at an early age the charms with which nature had 
favoured her, and her frequent fits of impatience, mingled with 
anger and irritation, ended by destroying her beauty at an age 
when women most enjoy that charming gift. 

** Madame Victoire was a very nervous child, and the nuns 
of Fontrevault almost drove her mad by sending her to say 
her prayers in a cellar in which their predecessors were all 
buried. She was a kind-hearted excellent creature, but she 
always remained timid in the world, as she had been in the 
catacombs at Fontrevault. Madame Victoire's graciousness, her 
gentle look, her winning smile were but the all too pale reflections of 
a mind devoid of energy, a heart without elasticity .... This 
Princess lacked the spark which completes life and is called 
love: she lacked it, because she refused to accept it from any 
but a crowned head; and so Madame Victoire, for want of 
becoming a queen, never became quite a woman .... And 
yet I saw her grow excited one day, and tliis was in a move- 
ment of impatience with me, who had said something of that 
kind to her .... My Aunt Victoire had gathered round her a 
society of ladies as modest as lierself, who knew how to fall 
in with her stay-at-home inclination; for the worthy Princesi 
delighted in idleness. She punctiliously fulfilled all the duties 
of religion, but without ever leaving her apartments : one migbt 
say that she sought salvation in an easy-chair, at least if sal- 
vation is compatible with a love of good eating, the only sen- 
suality which she permitted herself, the only one, I believe, she 
had ever known. 

"Madame Sophie had the frightened timidity of the squirrel; 
sh(^ walked al an extraordinarily fast rate, never looked at a 


person except sideways, like a hare, and ran away so soon as 
she suspected that anyone wished to speak to her. True, my 
Aunt Sophie was able to flatter herself with being the ugliest 
woman at Court. 

" When I grew a little older, I confess I began to criticize 
w^ith some spitefulness all these faults and eccentricities which 
had nothing Royal about them. My aunts were very angry 
with me for it, and yet I was right. They, the Queen, my 
brother d*Artois and even the King used to accuse me of 
pedantry, when I only prided myself upon displaying dignity. 

" Dignity," seriously continued the King, " is perhaps the 
quality with which a sovereign is least able to dispense ; it 
atones for many failings, and nothing is better fitted to bring 
out his other qualities. If God permits me one day to return 
to my Realms, I hope to prove to the French people that I 
possess all the conditions for the want of which the Revolution 
broke out. Shall I tell you my whole thought, Leonard ? I 
believe that in me there is more of the stuff which kings are 
made of than in all the rest of my family put together. 

"Ah, if only I had been better supported," continued Louis 
XVIII., with a sigh, " what a deal of good I might have done 
in France, what a deal of evil I might have prevented ! But 
the Croesuses of the emigration have deserted me ; they prefer 
to remain in England .... One d*A .... lends out in petty 
usury the gold which he has brought away from France. I 
have found among my nobility a sordid egoism, where I expected 
to find unlimited devotion. Is it not a disgrace to all those 
nobles, whose resources are well known to me, that they should 
allow themselves to be forestalled by you, Leonard, in advances 
to the Crown, which they could themselves have made without 
the least difficulty ? " 

"Sire," I interrupted, eagerly, "I have always made the^e 
advances with equal pride and satisfaction." 

"Egad, I know it, my lad," replied His Majesty, delighted 
that I should give him the opportunity of attaining his object 
at one bound ; " and at this same moment, when my returns 
have been a little delayed, I am sure that you will gladly hand 
d'Avaray five hundred louis which it is absolutely necessary 
that I should have." 


"Your Majesty does me honour by relying upon my eager- 
ness to meet your wishes." 

I vow these words issued with some difficulty from my chest: 
my heart was so big as ahnost entirely to fill it. 

"That is fine of you, Leonard," said Louis XVIII., gixing 
me, upon my word, his Royal hand. "I expected as much 
from vou." 

"I should have been better pleased," said I to myself, "had 
His Majesty expected less." 

I hope you will agree that the King of France and Navarre 
was marvellously clever in leading up to a delicate request 


Louis XVIII. joins Condi's army — Regiments four rire — The Austrian major — 
The policy of the Aulic Council and of the Court of St. James relative to Louis 
XVIII. — The King states his views in council at Blankenburg — A description of 
that town — And of the city of Brunswick — The bath -woman. 

The Most Christian King had hoped that he would be permitted 
to picket his nomadic Court, at least for some time, within the 
confines of the Venetian States. Although the Republican armies 
had won great advantages on the Rhine, no one imagined in 
1795 that next year Buonaparte would make so triumphant a 
military entry into Italy. But from that time Louis XVIII. un- 
derstood that he could no longer hope to " reign " peacefully 
at Verona; he raised his Court as one raises a camp, and 
determined to return to Germany to revive the courage of the 
Royal army. I followed His Majesty upon this journey. 

The King's reception on reaching Conde*s army was noble 
and brilliant. The cannon of the faithful legions announced far 
and wide the welcome extended to His Majesty, and his cousin 
paraded before him the regiments of Champagne, Flanders, 
Roussillon, Royal-Comtois, etc., etc., consisting of at least twenty 
men apiece. I was really sorry that H. S. H. the Prince de 
Conde had had so unhappy an idea; it reminded me of the 
little squads of supernumeraries whom I had seen manoeuvring 
in London in the military pantomimes of Mr. Astley, which 
have since been surpassed in their kind by the Messieurs Franconi,* 
but which were really not approached, in 1796, by the descend- 
ant of the victor of Rocroy and Senef.f 

This incident, however, may be dismissed as absurd : of more 

•Antonio Franconi, 1738 — 1836, became Astley's partner when he opened a 
circiis in Paris in 1783. Later he himself opened the Cirque Oljrmpique, which 
was continued by his sons .and grandsons. 

f The Grand Cond6. Rocroy (1643) was his first victory, Senef( 167 5) his last, 



serious import was a visit which His Majesty received at hb 
head -quarters from an Austrian officer, very straight and stiff, 
very much buttoned up, very tightly beUed, and booted, as they 
say, to the heart, who, in the name of the Emperor his master 
had come to pay the Most Christian King an exceedingly poor 

I was in the room next to that in which the envoy of Fran- 
cis II. was received, and I overheard even' word of the inter- 
view, particularly since the King's voice was inclined to be a 
rather shrill falsetto, while the Austrian officer's broken French 
was pitched in a very high key, doubdess to make himself 
better understood. 

"Monsieur le Comte . . . ." said the officer, after innumerable 
bows, as I gathered from the prolonged clattering of his spurs. 

" To which count are you speaking, monsieur ? " interrupted 
the King, sharply. 

"I am speaking to Your Royal Highness," replied the officer, 
who was following his instructions like a simple corporal. 

"In that case, monsieur, be so good as to remember that you 
are in the presence of the King of France and Navarre." 

"The Emperor my master has forbidden me, Monsieur 
le Comte, to give Your Royal Highness any other title than 
that by which I have the great honour to address you at this 

" And which is the County that His Austrian Majesty deigns 
in his munificence to bestow upon me ? " asked the King, in a 
sly tone resulting doubtless from his keen displeasure. 

"Your Royal Highnesses County," replied the Austrian, *is 
that of Lille." 

" It is not a happy choice, monsieur the major; and the Em- 
peror might at least have granted me a County which his anns 
had conquered. The King of Prussia might, for instance, have 
created me Comte de Verdun or Longevy; the King of England. 
Comte de Valenciennes." 

"Tartaifle, * Monsieur le Comte, Valenciennes was captured 
by the troop of the Emperor my master." f 

" The fact is open to question, monsieur the major ; but let us 

"^ Dcr TeufeU 

t 1793- 


not waste time over my County in partibus^ and be good enough 
to tell me what you want with me." 

** I come on behalf of the Emperor, my gracious master, and 
of General Wurmser, my commanding officer, to beg Your Royal 
Highness to leave the territory occupied by the armies of His 
Imperial Majesty." 

" What you tell me is impossible." 

" Here is the written order of my general, M. le Comte de 

The King took the paper which the officer handed him with 
every display of Austrian politeness; and after glancing through 
it, His Majesty exclaimed: 

" It is ordered ... it is ordered : what a phrase ! . . . from a 
simple general addressing a crowned head ! " 

" What answer shall I give my general, Monsieur le Comte ? " 

" You will tell him, monsieur, that the King of France and 
Navarre is in the midst of his troops, and that he will not leave." 

" In that case, Monsieur le Comte, I shall be placed in the 
disagreeable necessity of having Your Royal Highness removed 
by a regiment of Hussars." 

"Monsieur, monsieur," cried the King in the most piercing 
tones of his shrill voice, " mv brave Noble Guards will not suffer 
any one to approach their King." 

"Monsieur le Comte, all French officers and troops in the 
army of the Emperor my master are under the orders of His 
Imperial and Royal Majesty's generals. M. le Comte de Wurm- 
ser will have them disarmed at the first sign of revolt." 

" Go, monsieur " 

Here the clattering of spurs recommenced, the Austrian foot 
glided anew over the floor, and I gathered that the emissary 
was bowing his farewell to the King with all the forms of po- 
liteness which he had employed on his arrival. But I never- 
theless, shortly afterwards, heard the Uhlans, the instruments of the 
Emperor's orders, forming line on the little square at Muhlheim, 
where His Majesty then was, and I heard the order to dismount. 
It was evident that this body of cavalry had received orders 
to carry off Louis XVIII. after a certain time if His Majesty 
did not yield with a good grace. 

In the course of the evening the King summoned his council, 


in which the Comte d*Avaray always had a preponderating 
voice. His Majesty's pt>sition was carefully considered, and it 
was acknowledged that tlie best thing to do, for the time, was 
to vield. 

Louis XVII L could not well hope to be recognized as King 
of France and Navarre by the belligerent Powers. Austria had 
recently informed him of the sine qua non conditions upon 
which the Aulic Council consented not only to sanction his 
Royalty but to support it with all its power. These conditions 
were short and explicit: His Majesty the Emperor asked the 
hand of ^ladame dc France, then at Vienna, for his brother the 
Archduke Charles, and the Duchy of Lorraine as the Princess's 
dowry. Louis XVIII. replied to the diplomatic note in which 
these two demands were raised: ist, that Madame's hand, 
agreeably to the dying intentions, the sacred intentions of the 
Martyr King, was promised to M. le Due d'Angouleme; 2nd, that 
a King of France, even if enjoying all the fulness of his power, 
was not able to dispose of any part of his territory in £aivour 
of a stranger. This noble and high-principled reply did not 
meet the Emperor's views, and was the cause of the refu- 
sal of recognition which \vas founded wretchedly upon 
deceived ambition, and of the act of depotism intimated to the 
King .... It makes a hideous page in the histor)' of the 
Emperor Francis: I know none but those of 1813 and 1814 
which are uglier. * 

The Cabinet of St. James was less grossly positive, but did 
not sh<^w itself more favourable to Louis XVIII.'s roving 
royalty. Pitt was willing to permit M. d'Harcourt to play at 
being ambassador: that was a bit of amateur diplomacy which 
nobody could object to. But the views of the British Cabinet, 
although politer and better disguised, were still more exacting 
than those of the German Ca.\sar. George III. had declared 
that he did not choose that the pretender should set foot on 
Vendcan soil. His Majesty in his lucid moments remembered 
that the Crown of England had once possessed the Duchies of 
Guienne, Normandy and Brittany; that Calais had been a 
British possession ; and that as late as in the reign of Louis XIV., 

* Francis in 1813 joined the coalitiim fotmed ag:iin»t Napoleon, bb 


a citadel occupied by an English garrison had stood, a 

menacing, mocking object, in the port of Dunkirk See, 

what a favourable opportunity was the present war to win 
back these jewels snatched from the English Crown; what a 
fortunate occasion to legalize, by force of possession, the title 
of King of France which was then borne in ridicule by the 
English sovereign! That is how political heads in England 
reasoned and speculated in 1 796. I have already explained the 
attitude of Louis XVIII.'s council after the Emperor's message. 
The king decided to leave for Blankenburg, and to live there 
until new orders came, under the title of the Comte de Lille, 
since Comte de Lille there was. 

** Yes, messieurs," said His Majesty, on a later occasion, " I 
bow now, like the reed ; but I shall soon spring up again .... 
It is from France, messieurs, that our fate will be decided : that 
is where we must act and persevere." 

Some one observing that it was to be wished that earlier efforts 
in this direction had been made in the interest of the cause, 
the King replied: 

** Do you think I have waited till to-day to obey this necessity ? 
When the time comes I will prove to you that since the very 
commencement of their republic I have always had my confi- 
dential agents in the Convention .... Had your political sight 
been a little more practised, you might have seen the fleur-de- 
lys waving upon the Mountain itself." 

** On the Mountain ! " cried several noblemen at once. 

** Yes, messieurs, on the Mountain Now the thing is 

changed : the power is no longer in the hands of the legislature, 
and the Directorate is too weak to be able to retain it ... . No, 
the power is concentrated in the armies : it is in the ranks that 
I must win partisans. By dismissing Pichegru* from his com- 
mand, they thought they were spoiling my plans: on the con- 

* The bribe offered to Pichegru by Cond6 was a million francs down, two 
hondred thousand francs per annum, the estate of Chambord, and the title of 
Dnc d'Arbois. He allowed the Austrians to gain certain advantages oyer his 
troops; was dismissed in 1796; retired into private life at Arbois, his birth-place. 
When elected to the Five Hxmdred he placed himself at the head of the Coon- 
ter-Revolutionary party and was transported to Sinnamari in September 1797. 
He escaped, reached England in safety, made friends with Georges Cadoudai, 
the Chouan, and returned to France in 1804. He was arrested and imprisoned 
in the Temple, where he died very soon after, strangled either by order of 
Buonaparte or by his own hands. 

VOL. n. ly 


trary, egad ! for my partisans have sent Pichegni to the Council 
of the Five Hundred while others have given me Moreau* on 
the Rhine .... Meanwhile Barras, who is the real president of 
the Directorate, can be of use to me in bringing together the 
various elements of the Counter-Revolution, but the damned 
fellow is expensive t . . . . however, I shall see. Meantime, here 
we are are at Blankenburg." 

Blankenburg is a very insignificant town in the Duchy of Bruns- 
wick. Its inhabitants are great smokers, fearless beer-drinkeis 
and for the rest honest people. Their women, a feeble, lym- 
phatic sort, vegetate in their household like a mushroom in its 
bed, and fade almost as quickly. Blankenburg therefore is not 
a particularly inspiriting residence for anybody; and one who 
remembers the delicious turmoil of Paris yawns regularly once a 
second in this Brunswick town. 

As His Majesty had not yet deigned to take me into his 
political confidence except in so far as the financial department 
was concerned, I left the Most Christian King to deliberate 
daily in council on the Clichy conspiracy § and repaired to the 
capital of the Duchy, where I hoped to find less tediousness 
and a better investment for the poor remnants of my fortune.... 
It would be all over with the latter if it were allowed to enter 
as an element in any conspiracy .... In short, two thousand 
louis was all that remained between me and the necessity of 
resuming my comb. 

Brunswick is a gay, lively, well-built, well-lighted city, in whose 
midst ris^ an elegant palace, the charming residence of the reigniiig 
Duke. The town might well be called a miniature Paris, so 
notably does it possess the characteristics of a capital. Bnms- 
wick has, under another name, its Rue Saint-Honore, its hand- 

* Moroau was also dismissed a little later on suspicion of being in intdS- 
goncc with the Directorate, but reinstated in 1798. In iSoi, bowem, after 
winning the battle uf Hohenlinden and concluding his Austrian camputi, 
Moreau definitely began to conspire against Buonaparte with Geo^es Cadondsl 
and IMchegru. He was tried and exiled to the United States. There he accep- 
ted the otters of the Czar Alexander, and consented to 6ght against his ooon- 
trymen. Barely, however, had he reached the head-quarters of the Allies, near 
Dresden, before he had bt)th legs shot off by a cannon-ball, a6 August, iSlJ. 
He died a few days afterwards. 

f Twelve millions of francs was Barras' price to restore the Bomboos. 

§ So-called because the Royalists used to meet at Clichy-Ia-Gareniie, near Ptfii- 
The conspiracy was upset on the 4th of September, 1797. 


some cafes, its little milliners with their provoking glances, a 
number of tastefully arranged shops, comfortable coaches and 
hotels furnished in good style. 

I put up in one of the latter, and wanted for nothing that I 
could have found in a hotel in the Rue Richelieu: rooms 
excellently furnished, a French table-d'hote, and baths which were 
almost sybaritic. These I had long been hunting for, content 
to find them less luxurious but at least not disgusting. Such 
establishments were at that time rare* in Germany. I was glad 
to find one at Brunswick, and I had no sooner removed my 
travelling-boots than I asked to be shown to the part of the 
house containing the baths. According to the custom of the 
country, the bath-attendants were all women. I paid no notice 
to the woman who came to turn on the taps in my bathroom, 
fearing lest I should find her pretty; and certainly, in the 
occupation followed by these creatures, there is a great danger 
of their including their charms among the other accessories with 
which they supply one. 

Accordingly I did not observe that my attendant looked at 
me with great attention, as she afterwards told me. When 
she returned, at my call, and brought the towels, which, according 
to the custom, she held up before her face, a buckler as it were 
for her chastity, she looked at me from the comer of her eye, 
and sure at last of her facts, exclaimed : 

** You are Monsieur Leonard. ..." 

" Certainly, and who are you then ? " asked I, looking at my 
bath-attendant, a fat, buxom woman of forty-four or forty-five, 
still fresh-looking and even pretty. 

** I am Laure, the sweetheart of poor Fremont, the fiiend of 
Julie the dancer, the fairy of the Theatre Nicolet. " 

** Ah ! I remember you perfectly now. . . . But what strange 
series of events has turned you into a bath-attendant at 
Brunswick ! " 

" Strange events indeed. ..." 

At that moment a violent ringing siunmoned her away. 

" That's my cue, " said Laure, gaily, " I have to officiate 
elsewhere ; but I will come and see you in your room, my dear 
Monsieur Leonard. . . . What is your number ? " 

" Corridor number one, room number three. " 

Ar-— ^ . 


" Very well ; at ten this evening. . . . Do you ever read novels 
in bed?" 

" From time to time. " 

** Well, I will tell you one, that will be more amusing. . . . 
Till to-night. " 

And Laure went out singing : 

*'IJson dormait dans im bocag« 
Un pied par-ci " 

(Another violent ring.) 

" In a minute, coming. ... I will wager it is a Frenchman : 
always in a hurry, the French. 

** Un pied par-ci, Tautre par-U." 

And I said to myself. ** She is quite unchanged. ..." But 
I was wrong. 



Laurels Story. 

At ten o'clock exactly, three little timid knocks at my door told 
me that Laure had kept her word. She was dressed with a 
certain coquetry, a sort of refinement dug up from the French 
fiashions antecedent to the Revolution. But I also observed that 
in her whole dress theie was something modest, bashful, even 
mystical, which surprised me when I thought of what were the 
ex-dancer's actual functions .... Long sleeves, a carefully closed 
kerchief, hiding a^^-ay all that was at that period exposed with 
great boldness, and a modest, timid gait, very different from the 
lively, forward carriage of the day: that was what struck me as 
my old acquaintance entered my room. I remembered her at 
Nicolet's, giddy, sparkling, free in words and actions, no more 
hesitating to drink her ten glasses of champagne at supper than 
to accept her four adventures in the course of twenty-four hours ; 
and I thought, "Has misfortune changed this woman's habits? 
Has its iron hand tempered even more than age could do the 
fervour of her imagination, the ardour of her blood ? " It was 
neither age nor misfortune which had brought about this change ; 
only Laure's habits, remodelled by her destiny, had received 
new forms. Her character had in no way participated in the 
changes, as I was that evening able to learn. 

" You will expect to hear. Monsieur Leonard, " said the bath- 
attendant, sitting down by my side upon one of those sofas which 
you find all over Germany, " that a long series of follies have 
formed the links in the chain of my adventures. If so, you 
are mistaken. Since the year 1775, my life has been mainly 

" What ? ecclesiastical ? " interrupted I, with quick merriment. 



** Yes, Monsieur Leonard, ecclesiastical, though not orthodoi, 
as you shall hear for yourself." 

And resuming her narrative, Laure continued : 

" I joined the opera at the same time as my friend Julie, 
whose destiny soon made her a landgravine." 

"And then a flower-worker, and next a Polish colonel." 

" Nonsense ! . . . . But I do not know why I should be surprised. 
Nothing should astonish one in the quaint, whimsical coquette 
wliom we call destiny .... Has she not made a good woman 
of one . . . ." 

" Really ! " 

" Your exclamation is not polite, my dear countryman; but I 
forgive you since the fact is so rare. Well, I figured at the 
Opera in that conglomeration of dancers whose excesses, like 
the manoeuvres of an infantry batallion, leave but a fleeting 
fraction of success to each of the individuals composing it. For 
two years I schemed to reach the first row, the only place in 
which a dancer's fortune can emerge from the succession of casual 
windfalls which never constitute the most modest prosperity. 
At last, thanks to two or three lucky entrechats, cut at haphazard, 
I had attained the greatly desired front row, when my eye, 
practised at spying adorers across the shimmering of the foot- 
lights, lit upon a fat gentleman with a rubicund, pimpled fiace, 
a thick head of hair and a gold-laced waistcoat, who was quiz- 
zing me through his glass with great persistency. He showed 
all the symptoms of a financial nature and fortune .... a financial 
fortune the exploitation of which beautified all the castles in Spain 
of us dancers of the second class. I was mistaken, however* as 
to the profession of the man whose attention I had attracted, 
and who was nothing less than a rich, £ait Benedictme, one of 
the bigwigs in the congregation of St. Maurus, * a monk of 
Marmontier f in a word ; which proved to me later, more than 
all the arguments in the world, that it is not the cow] wkicb 
makes the monk. 

"Dom Joseph waited upon me the next day, with his opera 

* Thi> congregation t>f St. Maurus was founded out of the BraedictioM Order 
in 1013 and confirmed bv P«»pe Gregoni* XV. in 162 1. 

+ A crlebratril Bt^nciiictine inoniLstery near Tours, on the opponte bank ol 
the Loire. Its superiitr was known as the " Abbot of Abbotk The aane ■ 
derived from Marfini Afoftastt'rium: founded by St. Martin, Bbhop of Toon. 


hat under his arm, his sword by his side, fondling an exquisite lace 
frill with a very white hand gleaming with diamonds. He made 
his declaration with all the ease which a rou/oi the Regency would 
have put into his endeavours to ruin the reputation of an abbess 

** * The Court/ said he, * has long known that one takes 
monastic orders to enable one to continue to lead a life of 
fashion upon a middling income ; and the most scrupulous 
of monarchs now agrees that to live fashionably one must live 
without restraint, scruples or prejudices. Louis XVI. himself 
though a little straight-laced, has not been able to deny that 
it would be a piece of horrible tyranny to exact from a nobleman 
in religious orders that he should become a monk after the 
manner of the people, dirty, shuffling, sober and chaste. The 
great abbeys of France have their privileges : they turn them 
to account, and rightly. We Benedictines, for instance, have 
been i>etitioning parliament for ten years for leave to wear the 
ai/e de pigeon and the queue: when it pleases Messieurs to go 
into our case seriously, there is no doubt that the order of 
St. Maurus will triumph. In fact, I should not be surprised to 
see the members of our beloved congregation authorized to wear 
short coats and a small collar. * 

" * In the meantime our community at Marmontier is once a 
year liberated as to one third from the monastic fetters. There 
are three of us in the abbey, and we have a yearly revenue of 
400,000 livres to spend. The walls of a convent, however 
extensive, are too limited to allow of such an expenditure. So 
we have come to this understanding : each year one of us 
comes to Paris for sl\ months, with 50,000 crowns in his pocket, 
of which he is entitled to spend the whole, and never, at the 
expiration of his leave, does he bring a single crown back to 
Marmontier. The two other brothers manage to live as com- 
fortably as possible on the 250,000 livres remaining; and you 
may imagine they have not many privations to suffer. Pleasure 
is cheap in the country; victuals cost next to nothing; beauty 
accepts pavment in kind. 

" * But the brother who comes to Paris enjoys life on a larger 
scale. His monk's cowl, his vows of chastity, his obligations of 
continence and sobriety are left behind at the Barriere d*Enfer : 

• IJ" habit court ft It petit collet: the distinctive drcn of the regular clcrg)\ 


he enters the Paradise of the 6011 vivanlt in the quality of the 
elect of liucuiy, good living and voluptuousness. . , . This year 
it is my turn ; I have come to make a compact with you, my 
pretty Laure ; we shall have six months and 150,000 livres to 
spend together. Dixi.' 

"'You have spoken well, father,' I replied, screaming «ith 
laughter, 'and if you chant the gospel as excellently, God most 
be extremely satisfied with you.' 

"'Good, I see I have come to the right address,' replied 
Dom Joseph, commencing certain familiarities which were not 
yet legally authorized, and which I hastened to subdue. 

"'One moment, father,' said I, in a half-jesting, half-seiious 
voice. ' Let us proceed in order. I know that monastic affec- 
tions are driven quickly to their conclusion ; but for those of the 
theatre there are certain principles which we dancers do not 
allow to be n^lected. . . .' 

' * True, true, my pretty Laure ; let us return to our princi- 
ples. . . .' So saying, Dom Joseph placed a roll of fifty louis on 
my chimney-piece by way of pin-money, and told me that he 
would come and sup with me that ni^t and sign the contract 

' At half past ten the monk of Maimontier returned, and vk 
concluded our arrangement on the terms of a promise of 6,000 
livres a month, payable in advance. 

" I am really sony, for the sake of the glory of your sex," 
continued the Brunswick bath -attendant, gaily, "that the mon- 
astic orders have been suppressed in France. To judge by 
the Benedictines they were very fine iustitutioDS. Father Jo8q>h'i 
six months' stay in Paris passed, as I thought, with extraordinary 
rapidity; but it was not possible to prolong it by a week. The 
50,000 crowns brought from the convent came to an end, with 
marvellous punctuality, even as the time appointed for their 
expenditure : Dom Joseph was a man of order. 

" It was hard to part from an adorer who was able to cal- 
culate the employment of his gold as lavishly as that of bis 
time : I complimented him most sincerely. He was sensible to 
this mark of my regret. 

"'I don't see how we can remain together, my dear Lauie,' 
said Dom Joseph. 'To take you to Touts would be 1 
enough; but down there the three members of the C 


have everything in common .... and you will agree . . . .' 
** ' Yes ! I grant that a passion such as yours, multiplied by 
three, does not leave much time for reflection ; but the grace 
of God is infinite . . . .' 

"'Infinite! a strong word in the sense which you give it, 
my dear. However, you know the resources of "grace" better 
than I do. Think it over, and if you feel inclined to come to 
Marmontier, you must make your adieux to-night at the Opera, 
for to-morrow we shall post to Tours.* 

" I had made up my mind before evening. Dom Joseph 
had drawn so attractive a picture of the interior of his abbey; 
he had painted in such charming colours the mysterious pavilion 
where I should receive the alternate homage of the three Bene- 
dictines ; and finally the splendid repasts we were to partake 
of with a small company of adepts, and the sparkling champagne 
which I was to pour out, a generous Hebe, seemed to promise 
a life so joyous, so much in keeping with my carelessness of 
the future, so agreeable to my desire to enjoy the present 
without embarrassing it with care or anxiety, that I said to 
Dom Joseph, *I will go with you to-morrow, without taking 
leave of any one.' 

" * What ! not even of your friends at the Opera ?* 
** * An excellent way of preventing my creditors knowing of 
my departure.' 

" * Why, Laure, are you in debt ? ' 

" * Do you take me, Dom Joseph, for a vulgar woman ? ' 
" * We must now think of how we are to get you into the 
community under the eyes of our numerous ser\'ants.' 
" * In the dress of a young gardener, for instance . . . .* 
** * An e.xpedient of the Comedie Italienne which will arouse 
a great outcry, for it will be considered even more Italian than 
the Comedy. No, it would be better to introduce you in your 
dancing dress : it would be more moral ! ' 
" * I have an idea, Dom Joseph ! ' 
* ' What is it, Laure ? ' 

"'Suppose I were to come to Marmontier as a novice.' 
" * There have never been novices in our house .... No, I 
shall have to admit you at night, by the little garden gate.' 
"On the evening of the next day we arrived at Tours. It 


was a fi/ie moonlight night. Never did I experience a surprise 
to equal that which seized me when I beheld an edifice as 
immense as the Hotel des Invalides in Paris, and inhabited bj 
only three monks. 'O religious humility!' I cried aloud. 

" * Humility ! * replied Dom Joseph, scornfully. * A Franciscan 
virtue ! . . . That is good for the monastic small fry, who spend 
their time in fasting and praying. We are the Lord's fat kinc, 
and our mission is to give him thanks: and so that we may 
know what we are talking of, we must first enjoy our lives.' 

" * And salvation, father ? ' 

" ' We begin to think of that at an age when our actions can 
no longer compromise it: that is wise again, my dear Laure.' 

"'Do your two brothers think as you do, Dom Joseph?' 

" * Absolutely, pretty one : we are a trinity which is one in its 
wishes and inclinations: I will wager you can understand that' 

"During the conversation we had approached the principal 
door of the convent ; but we did not pull up there, and the postilion 
was ordered to keep along a nice little gravel road which bor- 
dered it. The man had not seen me, but the reputation of 
Messieurs of Marmontier was well-known : he suspected something 
and obeyed with a great, ' Humph ! ' When we had reached 
the little gate, Dom Joseph alighted, opened the gate with a 
key which he took from his pocket, and ordered our big-booted 
Phaeton to unharness the horses, saying that he would have the 
chaise dragged to a neighbouring wheelwright to be repaired. 
The postilion may or may not have believed this story; but he 
did as he was told, and rode off at once. 

" When he was gone, I emerged from the back of the chaise, 
where I had sat ensconced. Dom Joseph led me to a charming 
pavilion : the bright moonlight enabled me to admire its elegant 
architecture and its delicate shutters painted green. This building, 
I assure you, had nothing cloistral about it, and seeing it yoa 
would believe that if it was devoted to the exercise of any cult, 
it was certainly not that of Roman Catholicism. 

" Dom Joseph had also a key to this tolerably profane-looking 
pavilion. He opened the door, we climbed up one floor by 
the aid of the half-light of the moon . . . and I found myself in 
a real petite maitresse's boudoir, provided with every accessory 
of a luxurious and voluptuous life. 


** * Bravo, Dom Joseph ! ' cried I, enraptured, ' this promises well. ' 

"*This place,* said the monk, *was consecrated until to-day 
to the sentimental eventualities of the community : it was a little 
temple in which officiated, with great amiability, the wives of 
Tourangeal notaries, doctors and attorneys .... I am making 
an innovation in admitting an official divinity ; but at the convent 
my suggestions usually meet with approval : I have over my two 
brothers the advantage which men of intelligence have over the 
poor in spirit to whom the Kingdom of Heaven is due. 

" * Speaking of the simplicity of my excellent brothers in St. 
Benedict,' continued Dom Joseph, 'I have had an idea while we 
were in the post-chaise: I feel very much inclined dear Laure, 
to keep you for myself and to keep you here at the expense 
of the community.' 

" * An intrigue,* cried I, clapping my hands, * the very thing ! ' 

" * Only you will have to adapt yourself to circumstances : it 
will be necessary that the other two should not know that you 
are living in this pavilion.' 

"* Anything you please, Dom Joseph: but no imprisonment* 

" * What are you thinking of, Laure ! . . . You shall have com- 
plete liberty, an excellent service, continual good cheer; you 
shall go out when you like, go to the theatre if that amuses 
you; go to Paris for six months every three years, with an ex- 
istence at the rate of icx5,ooo crowns a year; and the rest of the 
time you shall have a charming little household here. Good- 
night, Laure; I must leave you, for I have to arrive in proper 

form for my brothers I shall arrange our little plan in my head 

to-night, and I will come and tell you of it to-morrow at breakfast.* 

" Hereupon Joseph gave me a good kiss and went out, leaving 
me in the company of two candles and a little crackling wood- 
fire, which he had lit as one accustomed to the place. 

** A quarter of an hour later there entered a fine stout peasant- 
girl, with ruddy cheeks, red arms, an ample bosom, thick red 
lips, a laughing mouth, very white teeth and the boldest air in 
the world .... I was not surprised to find this lass in Brother 
Joseph's intimacy. 

"The pleasant creature brought me, in a napkin knotted by 
the four comers, four dishes, one above the other, with a little 
loaf, a miche as she called it, under her arm. In the twinkling 


of an eye she laid before the fire a neat cover for one, all the 
requisites for which she found in a cupboard in the room in 
which I sat. Then touching a brass knob jutting from the wall- 
paper, she opened a closet containing what the monks call "a 
select library," that is to say numerous rows of bottles lying on 
lathes and with seals that struck me as respectable. The buxom 
girl took out a volume, and said, with her open laugh, 'Supper 
is served.* 

"*I see, my pretty child, that you have been sent by Dom 
Joseph to keep me company.* 

"*Yes, madame, by Dom Joseph, your uncle.... He has 
told me of your misfortune, madame .... Poor little woman ! 
to be left a widow so young .... How I cried when he told 
me. It is lucky and no less, that you have such an uncle; for 
he told me your husband had been killed in a duel after losing 

all your fortune and even your diamonds at play Ah, you 

will be as happy here as a fish in a pond; but you must not 
let Dom Lambert or Dom Fregosse see you: that might cause 
a brawl ; I have seen that before .... as the saying is, when 
three huntsmen are after the same hare . . . .' 

"'You are mistaken, my child,' I replied, seizing the monk's 
idea. 'I am not a relation in the manner of the curates' 
nieces, and Dom Joseph is really my uncle. He respects me, 
and I hope he will make me respected by his colleagues.' 

"*0h, as to that, I think he does well in not showing you 
to the others.* 

"'That may be difficuh.* 

"*Dom Joseph says he will succeed all the same.' 

"*Has he told you what means he intends to employ?' I 
asked of the young girl, less with the idea of evoking a positive 
reply than to try and discover, from the extent of the confi- 
dence he placed in her, how far he had succeeded in resisting 
the charms of this worthy peasant-lass. 

"' No, madame, Dom Joseph told me nothing. But he is a 
cunning one, all the same, and when he takes up a thing he is 
pretty certain to carry it through.* 

"*0h, oh,* said I, munching a fried salsify, and pretending 
not to attach the slightest importance to my question, 'has my 
uncle ever tried his skill on you, my dear child?' 


" * Holy Virgin, never ! ' replied the girl in a tone which 
proved to me that dissimulation is bom under the cottage 
beneath the old oak-tree as well as in the tumult of great 
cities. But I had seen the damsel blush, and I thought, Dom 
Joseph, you must be watched ! 

"When I had finished supper, the young girl, who told 
me her name was Nanette, went to the wall opposite that which 
concealed ' the library,' and touching an almost invisible spring, 
raised the wall-paper as quickly as though it had been a blind, 
and I saw that it had covered a door, which Nanette opened. 

" * This is your room, madame, ' said she, going before me, 
with a candle in either hand. 

"I beheld a bedroom such as Mademoiselle Guimard in her 
best days might have longed to possess. 

" * Really, my dear Nanette, ' said I, as I explored this 
charming retreat, *they say good taste is lost in Paris, but I 
see it has taken refuge with the monks of Marmontier. ' 

" ' It's no wonder, ' said the buxom lass, shaking her head ; 
* there's more money spent here on fine furniture than on church 
ornaments. ' 

** * Am I to sleep here alone ? ' I asked, remembering with 
some alarm that the pavilion was very isolated and stood at 
the extreme end of the gardens. 

" * Oh no, ' replied Nanette, showing me the door of a little 
closet : * there is a bed in there where I sleep. ' And the good 
village-girl offered me her services in undressing, acquitting her- 
self with such dexterity that I suspected it was not the first 
time. ... I learnt later on that Nanette had waited upon all 
the ladies whom * circumstances ' had brought to the pavilion. 

" Early the next day Dom Joseph entered my room : Nanette 
was already up and in the garden. 

" ' Well, niece, and how have you spent the night ? ' he asked, 
sitting down cavalierly on my bed, despite his monk's gown. 

" * Excellently, dear uncle ; this is a very good and moreover a 
very coquettish hostelry which you keep at the bottom of your 
garden. ' 

" * I have thought my plan out here, ' resumed Joseph, tapping 
his forehead. 

"*Ah! tell me, dear uncle.' 


M C 

You shall not know, my dear Laure, until after it is put 
into execution.' And draping himself in his gown, like Mithri- 
date at the Theatre Fran^ais, Joseph added : 

*** Et poor Atre approoT^ 

De semblables projets veulent Atre acher^ 

'''My plan,' he continued, 'is a piece of sheer madness ; but 

the dear brothers are simple enough to be taken in If I 

succeed it will be something amusing to tell you Do not 

ask me before : I fear your scruples ' 

** ' Dom Joseph, I come from the Opera. * 

" ' Never mind. ... we will keep the explanation for to-night, 
for my project is to be carried out this very day • * 

** ' In my presence ? ' 

" * No, my dear Laure ; for three hours only you must remain 
secluded here, in this room ; I venture to hope that after that 
the pavilion will belong to us alone .... ** Our household " 
will be delivered from the importunities of a neighbouring 
monastery,' added Dom Joseph, with joyous disdain. And 
having come to this conclusion, with one other which I will 
not mention, my Benedictine went out. I did not see him 
again until late that evening. 

** True, I had heard footsteps come and go in the room next 
to mine; but I had received no information as to what was 
taking place since three o'clock in the aAemoon. At that hoar 
Nanette, after ser\'ing me a dinner that was as delicate as it 
was abundant, disappeared, and the strip of wall-paper which 
drew up like a blind fell over my door. 

"Dom Joseph entered suddenly, bursting with laughter. 
'Complete victory,' he cried, kissing me, 'the citadel is ouis, 
and the enemy is in full flight. I could never have believed 
that, at the end of the eighteenth century two men who have 
worked at /'Arf de verifier les dates ^ who have read Voltaire, 
who frequent the world for six months every three years at the rate 
of 25,000 livres per month : I could never have believed, I say, 
that they could be so simple as to believe in ghosts.... And 
yet, my dear Laure, it is the terror which they feel of the shade 
of one of our defunct brothers, a shade which they have not 
even seen, which gives us our safety. Listen to the story: 


"'I told Brothers Lambert and Fregosse that, according to 
our custom, we would celebrate my return to-day in community, 
that is to say, by ourselves, but in this pavilion, where one is 
sheltered from intruders and where our best wines are kept. 
In order to be absolutely free from visitors or from any inter- 
ruption, it was agreed that the dainty repast should take the 
form of a supper, and my two colleagues, who on these occasions 
never leave the table until they are in immediate need of their 
beds, thought this decision very convenient. At eight o'clock 
the covers were laid in the dining-room of the pavilion: at a 
quarter past eight, after the Angelus had been tolled and our 
breviaries said, Lambert, Fregosse and I set out for this place: 
the supper stood steaming on table at our arrival. 

** ' Nothing unusual happened during the first two courses, 
except a monk's appetite, in other words a wolfs appetite, on 
the part of the two brothers. You see, Laure, they had not 
just returned, like me, from Paris, where the gluttony of the 
cloister is enfeebled and enervated by the exquisite delicacies of 
the pleasure-houses and select parties. But at dessert there 
came a change : it was a question of resorting to our " select 
librar)', " and I begged Brother Fregosse, the youngest among 
us, to go to the next room and fetch some flagons of the best 

" * Already Dom Fregosse was staggering under the influence 
of the ordinary burgundy. He rose and then with zig-zag steps 
made his way, candle in hand, to the well-stored closet. But 
I had prepared my little comedy, and I was not surprised to 
see the brother returning without the flagons. 

** * " I can understand, " he stammered, in painfully embarrassed 
tones, " that the secret knob has escaped my sight, because my 
sight is not very clear at present; but, God's blood, I have not 
lost my sense of touch .... and yet I found no more knob 
beneath my hand than is there at this moment." 

" * Hereupon Brother Lambert began to laugh in his colleague's 
face, and rose in his turn to do the errand which the fuddled 
Fregosse had not been able to fulfil; but this bantering monk 
returned after three minutes as crest-fallen as his predecessor. 

"'"Come, brothers," I cried, " this is a little too much : I could 
have understood if you had each swallowed down t^^'o of the 


* volumes' which you are not even able to fetch. 1 will fetch 
them myself; and egad, to punish your clumsiness, I shall make 

you swallow all that I can carry above six fiagons . Let no 

one follow me: I intend to be the only Argonaut of this 
expedition." And I rushed off. 

"'Listen, Laure, to the end of my tale: I stayed away as 
long as was necessary to set my hair on end, to bleach my 
features with whiting artfully applied, and to justify the story I 
was about to relate. 

'"'At last I ran back, uttering terrible yelki, and appeared 
before my brothers dishevelled, with haggard eyes, quivering 
lc*gs, and carrying in my trembling hand a broken, extinguished 
candle. With a comedian's inspiration I lay back in my ann- 
cliair, and gave vent t(j my pantry respiration; and at last I 
came out with my tale: 

"' " I went up to the fatal cupboard .... full of confidence, 
and like yourselves I looked for the knob, uselessly, when sud* 
denly the door opened of itself." 

"•"Of itself!" 

"*" Yes, of itself," I replied, in a hollow voice, " and suddenly 
I saw . . . ." 

"'" Egad, brother," interrupted Fregosse, "you saw some 
bottles " 

•****I saw," I repeated in a voice of thunder, *I saw the 
ghost of the late Brother Femel, who died of a choliCv five 
years ago, in the next room." 

"'"Eh, what, what do you mean?" cried Dom Lambert. 

" • " Yes, what do . . . . d<> do you mean," repeated 

Fregosse, suddenly sobered. 

" * " I tell you this terrible adventure did not end with a mere 
vision .... the dead man took my neck between his two bony 
hands .... a real grip of iron, my brothers; and this is word for 
word what he said to me in cavernous accents: 'You shall not touch 
that wino; it belongs to me; I have paid for it with the foiutcen 
thousand years of purgatory to which I am condemned.... 
Listen to me, Brother Joseph, listen to what I say, and remem- 
ber it: for if you neglect a single iota, you and the commu* 
nity shall suffer for it. The friends I have made down below 


cost me dear, but they serve me well: if I am not satisfied 
with your docility, the Convent of Marmontier shall shake every 
night on its foundations; your beds shall rock like children's 
cradles; and before six months have elapsed all the wine you 
drink shall taste like an infusion of wild chicory .... 

"'"*In the first place,' continued Dom Femel, *I wish that 
every day, with punctilious exactitude, I shall be served in this 
pavilion at ten o'clock with a copious breakfast, at three a 
splendid repast, at nine a delicate supper: as soon as each 

meal is served the bearer will withdraw I have my own 

people, and they are orderly people: they will clean the 
plates .... In order that the service may be complete, I appoint 
you, Joseph, the inspector of my offices: consequently you may 
retain your right of entering the pavilion. But if anyone else 
dares to set foot in it, he will be strangled at once by these 
wrists, whose strength you will not easily forget. 

** * *" So much for the nourishment of my body : for it is well 
you should know that we take our three meals a day in pur- 
gatory,' continued Dom Femel, slightly relaxing his vice-like 
grip, which he had tightened the better to make me understand 
its strength. * Now let us talk of the food of my soul. I want 
three hours' prayer a day. This task will fall to Brothers Lam- 
bert and Fregosse. Tell them so from me, and warn them that 
while they pray, I shall have my watch in my hand. These 
prayers must correspond with the times when I am taking my 
meals in this pavilion; I wish my body and soul to be fed 
together ... I have spoken : take care lest you forget anything ; 
and advise your brothers to be as obedient and as punctual as 
yourself, or the convent will dance at night and the wines be 
transformed into an infusion of chicory.' 

•""Dom Femel ceased speaking; I felt my throat free from 
his grip, and the door of the cupboard closed to with a solemn 
sound it had never given before... Evidently at that moment 
our cupboard communicated directly with purgatory." 

** ' The effect of this story,' continued Dom Joseph, * was exactly 
what I anticipated: Lambert and Fregosse, who had long been 
on their feet, were waiting impatiently till I had finished, to leave 
the pavilion. Their feet beat the floor as though they were on 
hot bricks; and they would certainly not have waited for the 

VOL. II. 18 



end of my narrative before taking flight, had not the most inxHn- 
cible obstacle retained them. To reach the staircase it was 
necessary to cross the room in which the apparition had taken 
place ; and this my crcduloas brothers could not bring themselves 
to do without the protection of me, the inspector of offices to 
the deceased. 

" ' At last, Lambert and Fr^osse took hold of my gown and 
dragged me out of the pavilion, whence the servants had dis« 
appeared at the first word of the story of the terrible apparition. 

"'That is what I have done, my dear child,' said my dear 
Benedictine, with a triumphant air, 'and that is the result I have 
obtained. Now let us go to the dining-room, where Nanette, 
who is not afraid of ghosts, is getting things in order, and let 
us have supper by ourselves. For while I was thinking out my 
comedy, I had nothing either to eat or drink. Be easy, Lambert 
and Fregosse will not come and disturb you: they have locked 
thenLselves into their cells and are praying aloud for the repose of the 
soul of Brother Femel. They are at their business, let us to (Mirs.* 

" What more shall I tell you. Monsieur Leonard ? " continued 
Laure, passing over all those details of intimacy which one can 
supply for one's self. " I spent fifteen whole years in the pavi* 
lion at Marmontier, and Fregosse and Lambert never dared to 
come within fifty paces of it; I gave birth to two pretty little 
girls, whom Dom Joseph adopted as his nieces: it was under* 
stood that Benedictines might have nieces ... At the moment 
of the outbreak of the Revolution, the more favoured monks 
were petitioning for a concession of cousins; but thanks to the 
abolition of the monasteries, they were able to allow themselves 
women conjugally without any risk of their concubinage being 

"We were in Paris, Joseph and I, when that great event 
occurred. We had 50,000 crowns in our pockets ; I was fbvt>*, 
the brotlicr was approaching his forty-eighth year; we agreed 
u|)<>n one essential point: that it would be prudent, nam' that 
the revolutionary storm was bursting overhead, not, as in the 
past, to spend our money on enjoyments which for us were 
no Ir)nf>cr imperious neecls. Shortly after our arrival in 
tlu> decree pmnounring the abolition (tf monastic ordeiK 
iitlen-(l and priimulj;ateti. 



" * I have an idea,* said Joseph, after reading the decree. * Let 
us get married, Laure.' 

"'Let us get married, Dom Joseph,' said I in my turn. 

"And a fortnight later we were civilly married. The nuptial 
benediction did not come till much later," added Laure with 
a sigh. 

** My husband,** continued the Brunswick bath-attendant, " had 
lived for twenty years with Lanabert and Fregosse ; he felt for 
them that friendship bom of habit where constancy is worth 
more perhaps than the vivacity of any deeper sentiment; and 
desiring to give them good advice, in time for them to avail 
themselves of it, he wrote to them in these terms : 

** ' Brothers, the Legislative Assembly decrees that the doors of 
*the communities shall be broken open. Do not wait for them to 
*himt you from yours; for it is well that you should know that 
*if our legislators are bent upon giving you your liberty, they 
*are no less bent upon appropriating your property. So hasten 
*and pack up all you can gather together of the revenues of 
'Marmontier, and having made your packs, bid farewell to the 
'abbey walls. 

"*0f my private authority, and without referring to Dom Femel, 
*I release you from the prayers he imposed upon you fifteen 
'years ago. These, brothers, cannot but have greatly advanced 
'your salvation, and I wanted the exclusive use of our pretty 
* pavilion for a charming little woman whom I have just married 
'before a mimidpal officer in a tricolor scarf.* 

"In times of revolution events follow fast. At the end of 
1792 my husband was appointed captain of Grenadiers in a 
Parisian batallion, and set out for the frontier, I accompanying 
him. Our daughters, one aged fifteen, the other barely fourteen, 
had shown a taste for their mother's first state : they had just 
become dancers, and it seemed as though I had only withdrawn 
one member from the Opera ballet in 1775 in order to return 
to it in 1792 two young people who promised well and who 
have since, unfortunately, fulfilled more than they promised. 

" By the summer of 1796, Joseph had become a brigadier- 
general ; but he was seriously wounded during Moreau*s retreat 



and taken prisoner of war. All our possessions were in his 
pocket-book, of which Prince Charles's Pandours did not omit 
to despoil him. This sad news reached me at Strasburg; the 
general had made me take a house there, wishing to spare me 
the fatigues and dangers which a woman encounten> when follow- 
ing the army. I hastened to join him at Brunswick, where the 
Archduke had given him leave to go; but alas, I brought him 
but a poor succour, the proceeds of the sale of some jcwellen', 

** Joseph's wound did not at first seem to endanger his life. 
But accidents supervened, and after languishing two months 
and a half, my poor husband died in my arms in December 
last. He left me in this very hotel, in debt and without 
resources. They wanted a bath -attendant. No one here would 
have thought of offering the place to a general's widow ; but that 
widow was honest, and starving: I applied for the humble 
position, in order to pay off my debts and satisfy the needs of 
my stomach. 

"That is my story, Monsieur Leonard," added Laure^ in a 
mystic tone which threw a light upon her hermetically closed 
kerchief and her modest gait. "God wished to punish me for 
marrying a priest; I am undergoing a well-deserved penance. 
Were I in France, the Republic would perhaps allow me a small 
pension ; but I owe money at Brunswick, and I have none to 

make a long journey So I bathe the Brunswickers while 

waiting for better things. " 

" Yes, " I replied to poor Laure, " but there is a Frenchman 
at Brunswick now : your lot will change. God is merdful, mj 
dear; He does not punish the sinner who repents, nor do I 
believe that He made Joseph fall on the field of battle for 
becoming a good general instead of a bad priest Calm your 
timid conscience; you shall return to France, the Republic will 
grant you a pension, because it is due to you; and God will 
protect you, for He is not vindictive. " 



1 continue to be the banker of the unfortunate— Three pairs of cotton stockings 
ior 12,000 francs — A general's widow becomes a coco* vendor — Barras and 
Madame Tallicn— Vanity the motive power in everything. 

•* My dear lady, ** I said to Laure, to whose narrative I had 
listened with interest, strange though it had seemed to me in 
parts, "when, eight and twenty years ago, I arrived in Paris 
carrying all my luggage in my pockets, I found two charming 
women who gave me a helping hand to move from a wretchedly 
furnished room in the Rue des Noyers into a nice apartment 
on the Boulevard : such things are never forgotten by honest 
minds. Julie became the wife of a Prussian general, you the 
wife of a French general ; and I have met both of you, after 
a period of prosperity, buffeted by capricious fortune. I wish 
the parallel to be completed in your case. You can leave for 
France as soon as you please ; to-morrow we will settle accounts 
with the hostess of this house, and I will give you the where- 
withal to go to Messieurs of the Directorate and ask them for 
the pension which is due to you as the widow of a Republican 
general who died of his wounds. " 

The Brunswick bath -attendant was very grateful, as may be 
imagined, for what I was doing for her. My name and that of 
Providence were mingled in her thanks and pronounced with 
an outpouring of pathos and blessings which proved to me 
unmistakably that Laure had become religious ! I thought of 
the free conversation of the young dancer at Nicolet's, the un- 
concern with which she would fasten her garter above the knee 
in the presence of witnesses, the shamelessness of her bearing, 
her inclination towards tipsiness, and a thousand other little foi- 
bles of her youth which had pointed but little towards mysticism ; 

and I reflected, " What oddities time carries in its bosom ! " 



The next morning I settled with the hostess for Madame 
Joseph's account. After deducting the bath-attendant*s wages 
earned, and well earned, by the poor general's ^^-idow, there remained 
a modest balance due from her of 20 thalers (about 74 francs 
of our currency), and this was the chain which kept Laure at 
Brunswick. It was for the want of this trifling sum that she 
was obliged to follow a profession which placed her modesty,— 
become timorous somewhat late in life, it is true — at the mercy 

of all the rakes of the town How often must not the 

unfortunate Frenchwoman, handsome still at the commencement 
of her autumn, have had to repel the attacks of insolent youth : 
attacks in which the blows struck at her chastity were the more 
dangerous on account of the lightness of the assailants* fighting 
costume ! 

Laure refused to accept more than fifty louis for her journey; 
she even pretended that it was too much, seeing, said she, that 
to judge by the fine speeches uttered daily in the tribune in 
favour of the defenders of the Republic, her pension must vciy 
so<jn be settled .... The news I received three months later 
from the worthy widow proved to me indeed that the directorial 
Government had taken up her case at once : she received as 
salary due to her husband at the time of his death and for arreais 
of pension the considerable sum of twelve thousand francs in 
territ<jrial warrants .... This return assisted her to pay for three 
pairs of cotton stockings, she adding to it the sum of six sous 
in cop])er .... Laure's ideas on the manner in which the 
Directorate discharged the debts of the country towards its 
defenders unden^'ent some change; but she persisted in her 
resolution not to beg her bread from the opulence of her daugh- 
ters, which she qualified in her letter to me as "shameful." 
mutability of human opinion! 

The widow of General Joseph, with the aid of a little remnant 
remaining from the money I had lent her, set up at the Porte 
Saint- Denis a business in cocoy * which for eight or ten yean 
formed the wonder and the delight of the hackney-coachmen, 
messengers and water-carriers of the neighbourhood. It was a 
masterpiece of painted tin, which far surpassed all that had 
hitherto been imagined to attract consumers at two fiarthings 

• Liquorice- water. 


the glass .... The author of this wondrous work had freed 
himself from the slavish imitation of pyramids, pagodas and 
Chinese pavilions : his architectural composition represented the 
Temple of Glory, in the depths of a gloomy forest, artistically 
cut out in tin and painted in oil-colour. In front a group of 
French grenadiers carried a wounded general on their ciossed 
muskets; others marched behind the mournful procession, with 
downcast heads and arms reversed .... At some distance a 
genius, posed upon a little mound, showed to the grenadiers the 
Temple of Glory, through whose doors opened to receive the 
general, one saw a monumental tomb, on which was read the 
word Marceau. 

However, the hero carried to his grave was not really Marceau 
but General Joseph, killed in the Black Forest near the spot 
where his illustrious colleague had lost his life not long before * ... 
What was most admired in all this, what more particularly 
delighted the urchins of the neighbourhood, was the delicate art 
with which' the figures were carved, clothed, armed and equip- 
ped .... The general's uniform, rustling with embroidery, made 
the young gazers-on exclaim each moment, " Ah, how I should 
like to have that!" 

Madame Joseph did not wish the Temple of Glory to be 
dishonoured by vulgar taps : little canals, dug beneath the grass 
of the forest, carried the coco to the foreground, and that 
insipid beverage seemed to spring from rocks covered with 
moss and cockle-shells. 

Such was Madame Joseph's establishment: often she would 
see tears springing to the eyes of the sentimental cockneys ever 
stationed before her economical refreshment-room ; and then 
they would come in and drink, even when not thirsty, so as to 
leave the widow a token of their sympathy. 

One day, about a year after the founding of the interesting 
coco-fountain, there was a thick crowd aroimd Madame Joseph, 
who was explaining, as she sometimes did, the scene which 
was displayed before the public's eyes. 

Suddenly the attention was called away by the approach of 

* Francois S^v6rin Desgravicrs- Marceau was killed at the battle of Altenkir- 
chen in 1796. He was 27 years of age and had been a general officer three 


an elegant open carriage. Two splendid Danish dogs ran in 
front ; four spirited chestnuts, champing their bits with impatience 
at being kept to a trot, drew the carriage, in which lounged 
a man dressed with the most elegant negligence, with one foot 
placed upon the front seat, in spite of the presence of a woman 
seated on his left, dressed, or rather undressed, in the latest 
fashion, and of dazzling beauty. And the crowd munnured, 
" It is Barras, the President of our cinq'Sires, with his favourite, 
Madame Tallien." * 

Meantime that beautiful lady, who had been staring at the 
coco- rooms through her opera-glass, appeared to be begging 
the important personage to permit the calash to stop. Barzas 
at first resisted, but finally yielded, alighted, and giving Madame 
Tallien his hand, assisted her to alight in her turn. They 
crossed the boulevard and made for Madame Joseph*s establish- 
ment .... The crowd opens out; the Republicans, who have 
rcc^ovcred their politeness, uncover; the President gives them a 
quasi-royal smile; a cry is raised of ''Long live Citizen Barras!* 
He is charmed. 

" You see, Citizen President," lisped Madame Tallien, in a 
voice no less caressing than her looks, ''it is as I was told : 
very pretty, very ingenious." 

'*Yes," said the Director, "a very pretty toy. Citizeness," he 
added, addressing Laure, who had risen, "you must have many 
visitors here." 

" Among whom. Citizen President, there are fortunately a good 
numbers of drinkers whom I never intoxicate." 

"Anil whom you do not deceive either," resumed the presi- 
dent, " and in that you differ from the Parisian publicans 

Is any historic association attached to the scene you show us here?" 

" Yes, (Citizen," replied the widow, in a firm and decided voice; 
" this has been ( onstructed in remembrance of a Republican general 
mortally wounded in the Black Forest . . . ." 

"What was the general's name?" 

"Joseph .... and I am his widow . . . ." 

"What, madarae," exclaimed Barras," the widow of a gene- 
ral, and . . . ." 

* Madame Tallion was then only 23 or 24 years of age. She had many loven 
and ni.iny husbands, and died i\s Princesse de Chimay in 183 x. 


" And a coco-vendor, citizen director .... since one cannot 
live on a pension which represents 15 francs." 

"Come to my audience to-morrow, citizeness: we will put 
that right . . . . " And Barras added, raising his voice, to be 
heard by the onlookers, " I will not witness the sufferings of the 
widow of a brave defender of the country Till to-morrow " 

" I shall not fail to come. Citizen Director." 

Madame Joseph, whose story I have told to the end to avoid 
having to return to it, went to Barras' audience, and her 
pension was paid with gieater promptness and at the rate of 
1,000 francs in specie. This favourable result was obtained, nol 
because a general's widow had aroused the interest of the 
government, but because a coco-vendor had attracted the 
attention of the public .... Laure refused to sell her coco-rooms. 
She entrusted their management to a former comrade at the 
Opera, who had taken the veil in expiation of her sins, and 
had subsequently set up a tinder-shop after the suppression of 
the convents. The widow drew another thousand francs annu- 
ally from her singular property, and thus a commerce in plain water 
and liquorice brought her in just as much as all the blood 
spilled by a general of the Republic. 

All this took place in 1798: I had already long left Brunswick, 
and I will return to the causes which took me thence. 


Sto<:kwa5ser's manufactory — A miniature Versailles in a tin-merchant's work-shops 
—Misery and pride— Louis XVllI. at Mittau— A letter from Cooniess DeWinski— 
A glance at the Court at Mittau — I decide to resume my comb— I prepare to 
set out fur St. I*etersburg— My parting interview with Louis XVUL 

At Brunswick, one Stockwasser owned an establishment, 
which has since become very famous in Germany, where 
were manufactured tea-caddies, tobacco-jars, sugar-basins and 
various vessels in painted tin, besides card-board snuff-boxes, 
also painted. All these articles were very exquisitely worked; 
they were mostly painted in oils, although this could not be 
very remunerative to the artists, since Stockwasser's goods were 
sold very cheaply. 

I detennined to visit this house, in which the Bninswickers 
displayed a certain pride, and I was very pleased that I did so. 
The painting-room especially possessed a curious, even eccentric 
plu'siognomy. Th(^se at work there belonged neither to the 
ordinary class of artists nor to the German nation: of this I 
was apprised at a distance by the confused chatter that reached 
my ear; and when I entered the room, I recognized Frendi 
faces throughout the long gallery filled with men and women 
engaged in painting a multitude of different subjects. 

My cicerone explained to me that all these Rubenses on tin, 
all these Lebruns on papier-mache, were so many emigrants of 
both sexes, who, having quarrelled with Plutus, had sought a 
refuge with the god of the Arts. The talents which these noble 
exiles had acquired in their colleges and convents as an agree- 
able pastime, they now turned to for their living. . . . But let 
it not be said that, while working for Stockwasser for their bread, 
these fonner frequenters of Versailles had renounced their old 
customs : the French have, I believe, the exclusive privil^e of 

affecting fine <iirs when in a humble condition, of combiniqg 



misery with elegance, without attracting ridicule. After walking 
through the work-room I was convinced that our counts, our 
marchionesses, our barons and our presidentesses had lost nothing 
at Brunswick but their hundred thousands of livres a year, their 
diamonds and their horses and carriages. . . . The haughty self- 
sufficiency, the imperious air, the hand in the fob of the men ; 
the studied disdain, the patronizing look, the delicate nerves of 
the ladies survived in the work-rooms of Stockwasser, who was 
content to take pity on them so long as his tea-caddies and 
tobacco-jars were not too slowly decorated with Loves, Zephyrs, 
Hebes and Ganymedes. 

You will hardly believe that, paint-brush and palette in hand, 
our illustrious fellow-countrymen showed themselves no less 
jealous at Brunswick than at Versailles to keep up the hierar- 
chical prerogatives of their rank. . . . Small and great entries, 
stools, admissions to the King's chariots were granted and refused, 
but above all quarrelled over. . . . Nowhere, perhaps, were such 
magnificent castles in Spain built as in Stockwasser*s humble 
work-rooms ; and the tangible part of it all was one small crown 
earned per diem, a frugal dinner eaten on the comer of the 
easel, a truckle-bed in a Brunswick garret. 

On leaving this singular Court, whose dignitaries were not 
unlike those of the Cour des Miracles, the titles excepted, I 
congratulated myself upon not having met any of those noble 
borrowers whom I had found in London, on the Rhine, on the 
Danube, everywhere. It had become time for me to think of 
myself, and I became more and more confirmed in my intention 
to go to Russia, there to resume the comb, which, alone among 
the elements of my fortune, had never failed me. 

I proceeded accordingly to Blankenburg, to take the King's 
commands, for the Emperor Paul I., Autocrat of All the Russias, 
and for the Frenchmen of high distinction who might have 
retired to St. Petersburg. But when I reached the little town 
where I had left the nomadic Court of Louis XVIII., His Majesty 
had just departed for the Kingdom of Prussia. I immediately 
repaired to Berlin ; but the King had already left. Nevertheless 
the successor of Frederic the Great had offered an asylum and 
even a pension to the French M(3narch ; but either the latter 
was a little angry with his brother of Prussia for having with- 


drawn from the coalition, or else His Majesty feared lest he 
should enc».)unter the vanguard of the French armies in the 
neighbourhood of his retreat: he had determined tr» retire to 
Mittiiu in Courland. He no doubt thought that the Rhine, the 
Elbe, the Vistula and the Nicmen were none too many to place 
between himself and the audacious carmagnoles. 

I hastened to proceed to Mittau, and there found a letter 
awaiting me from the Countess Delvinski in which she enclosed 
a draft on a banker at Riga for the amount of the sum I had 
lent my friends on their flight from Poland. Of all the money 
I had scattered broadciist since my departure from Paris, this 
was the first that returned to me. 

The good, kind Julie wrote me a little volume, a sort of novel, 
containing all the details of the reception extended to her and the 
count bv the directorial Court. A sort of ovation was decreed to 
them at the Luxemburg ; and it had only lain with her to become 
the heroine of a civic festival on the Champ dc Mars, which she 
might have traversed, dressed as an allegorical 'figure of Poland, 
upon a car (^f painted canvas drawn by the Citizen Franconi's 
horses. The organizer of these solemnities, Captain Cuvelier,* 
so well known since for his pantomimes in dialogue, with their 
fights with axe and poniard, had exhausted all his eloquence 
upon the countess to persuade her to play the part of "an heroic 
fatherland ; '* but, as she wrote to me, "I persisted in my refusal, 
for the simple reason that, iis a native of La Chapelle, near 
Paris, I could not figure as a Pole without dreading the ridi- 
cule of all Paris. 

"Let me tell you, as a secret," she continued, "that when 
my husband, immediately upon our arrival, renewed his a)mmand 
as a brigadier-general in the anny of the Rhine, Director Barras, 
in spite of your friend's five-and-forty years, took such good 
note of her figure beneath her lancer's uniform that he took it 
into his head to attempt a very special and academic exam- 
ination. I remarked to the too gallant Director that, having taken 
my part in the wars iis a colonel, I begged him to forget that 

* Jean Guillaumc Augusti> Cuvelirr de Tryc, 1766 — 1824, ^^^ adopted a uA- 
dicr's career, and then turned to the stage. Between 1793 and 1824 he produced 
the prodigiDUs number of no plays of various descriptions. This extraordinarUr 
fe«-und dramatist was nicknamed "the Cri^billon of MeK>drama." 


there was anything of the woman left in me, and to occupy 
himself exclusively with the ladies of his circle, whose almost 
negative costume favoured the kind of examination he desired 
to indulge in. Barras took the hint. 

" I confess nevertheless, my dear Leonard, that whenever I 
pass along the Boulevard du Temple, before the verj' modest 
lodging which I occupied in 1770, my heart beats very hard. 
Ah, of how much I think then ! How happy those years seem, 
though they were rich in nothing but folly, voluptuousness and 
thoughtlessness ! And when a woman who is completing her 
ninth lustrum has such lively memories, it is not without a 
certain emotion that she writes to a friend of that time. . . . 
You know, Leonard, that after forty a woman may talk of 
friends but not of lovers. 

" Heaven, how Paris has changed from what it was ! How 
strange to compare our macaronis of former days, with their 
red heels, their silver waistcoats, their spangled coats, with the 
fools of a new sort who walk the streets shod in the Greek 
buskin, heedless of the gutters ; swathed in the toga of Aristides, 
regardless of the cold ; and receiving the content of the gutters 
on their bare, curled heads, from respect for the head-dress of 

"Do you remember, Leonard, the monstrous hoops of our 
former great ladies of the Court, the panniers which, the farthin- 
gales aiding, were such a protection to their chastity, as every 
one knows? Well, the Frenchwomen of 1708 have reached 
the antipodes of that voluminous attire. ... If you walk in the 
Tuileries on a fine sunny day, you can have the pleasure of 
examining at your ease the figures of our tnerveilleuses and 
the soft shades of their skin, together with every contrast you 
could wish for. . . . There is no longer any need for painters 
and sculptors to pay heavy fees to models for their Venuses. . . . 
the ladies pose everywhere and at all times in true academic nudity.** 

Louis XVIII.'s Court, in a town in chilly Courland, offered 
but few attractions or even comforts, and His Majesty made the 
sad discovery at Mittau that safety and contentment do not always 
go together. No longer was the Royal exile's ear caressed by 
the warm and balmy zephyr of the Adriatic, but by the chill blasts 


of the Baltic, which hurled themselves against the thin old wails 
of the small, brick country-seat which he occupied. Living amid 
a population composed almost entirely of woollen or leather 
merchants, all fanatically devoted to the practice of fireemasonry, 
the King did not find himself in a sphere in which his tastes 
could hope to meet with any sympathy .... There were indeed 
a considerable number of men of learning attached to the various 
schools and academies at Mittau; but the inclinations of these 
turned towards independence, which was not what His Majesty 
desired. ^ Where can I go," the good Prince would sometimes 
exclaim, ** not to hear people invoke those two disordered Bac- 
chantes whom they call Liberty and Equality?" 

It was long since I had first entertained the project of going 
to St. Petersburg ; but I had always hesitated to leave the centre 
of the emigration. Not that H. M. Louis XVIII. would have 
confirmed the promise of the patent of nobility which the Martyr 
King had made me: never, in the moments of his most ex- 
pansive good-will, had the reigning Monarch gone so far as 
that . . . But the less I expected to be rewarded for my perse- 
verance in dancing attendance on the misfortunes of the Princes, 
the more I hesitated definitely to part from them. Those who 
regard self-interest as the most powerful of motives have omitted 
to take account of tlie power of self-esteem. 

However, my resources in the year 1798 had diminished to such 
an extent, and the capital which I had placed out was invested 
in mortgages of so doubtful a nature, that the simplest calcul- 
ation sufficed to show me that I had not enough left to live on, 
even by suffering privations. I saw clearly that I must philo- 
sophically resume my comb, and go to Russia to use it on the 
ladies there, whose head-dress had more or less attained the 
point where I had found it in 1769. Old and out of date for 
France, my talent might still, at St. Petersburg, appear young 
in inspiration and fresh in imagination by reviving all the fashions 
which had formerly sprung up beneath my hand. 

One thing troubled me from the moment when this idea fint 
took root in my head: that was the difficulty of announcing to 
the King my fixed intention of leaving his august person .... 
This I confess to-day was due to a passably ridiculous feding 
of pride : I imagined that the departure of a caitiff such as I 


would create a void in His Majesty's life, as though I had been 
a creature of any impK>rtance; as though a hair-dresser, three 
parts ruined, or ruined altogether for all one knew, would have 
made any more difference on quitting his Sovereign than a poor 
spaniel who gets up and goes, after amusing his master for a 
time by fetching and carrying. 

I recognized the absurdity of my vanity when I at last sum- 
moned up courage to announce to the King that I was compelled 
to return to my industry and that I proposed to proceed to the 
Court of Paul I. with the object of endeavouring, though old, 
to recapture some scraps of fortune. 

. " What, my ix)or fellow, has it come to that ? " said Louis 
XVIII., airily enough. 

" Alas, yes. Sire .... Events, as Your Majesty knows, have 

deceived the expectations of all of us and I had sown 

abundantly in the hope of a speedy harvest." 

** Yes," replied the King, reflectively, " we have all made a 
blimder. I thought too late of diversions from the inside, from 
the centre .... Would to God I had worked the elections, 
enrolled the co//e/s not'rs, * enlisted tlie sympathy of the shop- 
keepers by holding out hopes of a revived Court, rather than 
letting those Don Quixotes of the Vendee have their way, brave 
and devoted people without doubt, but inclined to thrust and 
cut in all directions, with no plan of campaign and no definite 
object in view. 

"The 13 Vendemiare and the 18 Fructidor deceived mv 
hopes of a Counter-Revolution, but these two Jacobin triumphs 
have only temporarily dispersed tlie firebrands of the conflagra- 
tion that is imminent: they are not yet extinguished. Remem- 
ber what I say, Leonard: one man alone is to be feared 
by our cause, and that is Buonaparte, that little general 
whose body could be blown over by a breath, but whose soul 
would brave a tempest. If he had remained in Europe we 
should have had great difficulty in checkmating the Revolution. 
But Barras, that immoral Barras, who contrary to my expect- 
ations, is prepared to barter what he calls his conscience, had 
fortunately lighted on the expedition to Eg}'pt as a means of 

• Black bands botanie, after the nmr<ler of the King and Queen, the svnib<»l 
of Rojalism. 


removing the hero of French public opinion .... We shall be 
able to operate on a large scale : Austria, terrified at the e.\p]oits 
of the conqueror of Italy, is already retrieving herself; the Rus- 
sians, with their redoubtable Souvaroff, are under marching 
orders ; the English fleet is blockading the French army on the 
Nile; the Royalist bands in the West are taking fresh courage: 
new regiments are being enlisted at different places .... Our 
affairs are going well, Leonard," added the King, rubbing his 
hands, "our affairs are going well, and you shall not remain 
long in St. Petersburg .... There will soon be crowned heads 
for you to dress in France . . . ." 

I could hardly believe my ears when I heard these last 
words .... It seemed incredible that for the Royal FamOy I 
should still be Leonard the hair-dresser, that is, oniy Leonard 
the hair-dresser .... How backward I still was in my poUtica] 
education ! 


I ajTiT« at St Petenbuig— An audience of the Emperoi Paul 1.— The Kmpiaa 
Ifatu) Feodororni — Poitiait o( Paul I. — I become a coiffent again — A picture 
of Rusiiaii Society — Madajne Demidoff^ — i£y bourgtou eiisteDce — Detchptioiu of 

life ID St. Petanbnig— Variou* detaili. 

It has been seen how Louis XVIII. gave me, by way of pro- 
vision for my journey, the hope of retumiog as hair-dresser to 
a restored Court of Versailles ... I was to resume the thread of 
my career where I had dropped it in 1789: the rest was to be 
regarded as null and void. Thus the King seemed to think that 
I should recover my powder-box and powder-puff just as the noble 
emigrants were to be restored to their possessions, titles and 
privileges. Not a word of the sacrifices made during the emi- 
gration by the plebeian Leonard . . . But my confidence in the 
kindness of princes was not to de discouraged by these signs of 
indifTerence. " I should be wrong," thought I, " to weigh the 
gratitude of these illustrious peisonages in the scales of my 
Gascon imagination: they are niggard in promises but will 
show themselves generous in good deeds, if I return to France 
in their suite; the fate of my old age will be mild and prosperous : 
noble hearts do not forget . . ." You shall see presently to what 
extent the happy expectations were realized. 

I set out at last from Mittau, and made but one stage of it 
to St, Petersburg, The King had handed me some despatches 
for Paul I., impressing upon me to hand them to that Prince in 
person. I carried out Louis XVIIL's intentions to the tetter; 
and this would doubtless have been difficult for any but me, 
since the Czar was, for the moment, in one of those paroxysms 
of distrust which caused him to suspect all the world. But 
the name of Leonard the famous coiffeur had long been a 
household word at St. Petersburg: the Chevalier or the Cheva- 

VOL, ti. 


lierc d'Eon, who was Paul's fencing-master when the latter was 
only a Grand Duke, had entertained His Imperial Highness 
with accounts of my prowess; and in the visit which he paid 
to Paris before the Revolution, the Northern Prince had 
more than once protested at the inconceivable latitude which 
the ladies of the Court allowed to my impertinences. His Imperial 
Majesty was accordingly in a position to look forward to my 
visit with the same curiosity which one attaches to the sight of 
some rare monkey ... I was admitted to the Czar's presence. 

I found Paul I. in his closet, seated before a desk on which 
were spread maps of Italy and Switzerland. I could easily see 
that His Majesty was following Uie march of Souvaroff, who 
was fighting the French armies. When the Emperor saw me 
enter between gentlemen of the Guard, like a refractory conscript 
between two gendarmes, he rose, came towards me, and very 
aff^ly took from my hand the despatch which I brought him. 
He cast his eyes over it rapidly, and then tossing it on to hii 
desk, he began to speak of me personally. 

"Well, Leonard," said he, in excellent French, and as though 
he were addressing an old acquahitance, " so you have decided 
to translate the empire of hair-dressing to Russia? Lik« the 
King your sovereign, you want a throne somewhere." 

"Sire, in adversity we seek consolation sometimes in chimeras.' 

"Ah, your sovereignty will prove no chimera here; yon will 
be able to do a good business. Think, the Empress will protect 
you! I know that you have faithfiilly served the unfortunate 
Queen of France; all my nobility will follow their sovereigo^ 
example and show their appreciation of your conduct." 

" I shall be indebted to your Majesty for a prosperi^ on 
which I dared not reckon . , . ." 

" Oh, you will have to purchase it, egad 1 Oo you think 

that our ladies are free from caprices, and that your patience 

will not be put to every possible test 7 No, no, L&nanl : 

to grow roses in the North of Europe you must cultivate them, 

and with ardour But you come here with a &mouB name : 

that is a great thing lo begin with !' 

Just then the Empress Maria Feodorovna appeared. I had 
only seen for a moment at Versailles this voluminous T 
who would have been a superb woman in a coia 




athletic proportions are considered a charm in the fair sex. 

"Madame," said the Emperor, " this is Leonard, whose arrival 
was announced to us some time ago .... He brings with him 
the best traditions of Versailles : I hope you will employ him — " 

" I will, Sire, and from to>day .... My hair is in a hideous 
state of disorder .... I really do not know, monsieur," continued 
the Empress, tiuning to me, "whether you can make anything 
of it. It is as one might say a long-neglected flower-bed, in 
which the plants have grown up at random .... Our Russian 
hair-dressers don't know how to handle a pair of scissors .... 
Till presently. Monsieur Leonard, do you hear, till presently." 

" Madame, I am at Your Majesty's orders." 

While I was speaking with the Empress, Paul I. returned to 
his maps, from which I presumed that my audience was finished. 
I approached the Emperor respwctfuUy to take my leave. 

"Your Majesty has no orders to give me for the King?" 
I asked. 

" No," replied Paul I., curtly. 

"Louis XVIII.," thought I as I made my way out, after 
repeated bows, to which the Czar replied with a friendly nod, 
"Louis XVIII. has no very fervent ally here . . . ," I learnt later 
that I was not mistaken. 

Paul I., whom I leamt to know well during the last three 
years of his life, was not a Prince constituted to understand the 
qualities of Louis XVIII. In his eyes a monarch's chief virtue 
consisted in military knowledge ; and in this respect the King 

of France was still learning his first lessons As a result of 

this infatuation for illustrious warriors, the Czar loudly proclaimed 
himself an admirer of Buonaparte. This general was almost as 
great a hero to him as to the French Republic, and in 1798 I more 
than once heard the Sovereign of the North express the desire 
that the conqueror of Italy should take up the reins of govern* 
ment in France. 

Paul was at the same time a man of education. He had 
some wit, and his judgment, when pronounced on any other 
matter than one upon which he was prejudiced, was rarely at 
fault. But as a rule the fickleness of his mood prevented him 
faun fixing his mind sufficiently long on any question to 
^Itamounce a matured opinion. Never did a more light-headed, 


capncious prince ascend a throne. You left him one evening 
affable, communicative, simple to familiarity; the next moning 
you found him hard, haughty, despotic to tyranny. 

To this strange mutability of character the Emperor jtnned 
a constant, unfortunate distrust of all that surrounded him. From 
the very first days of his reign, and without having done anything 
to excite enmity, Paul became as timorous, as suspickms as 
Louis XI. when he retreated to Plessis-I^-Touis after one of 
his bloodthirsty executions. The imaginary dangers with which 
he was encompassed caused him to coimnit the greatest injus- 
tices ; and from these phantoms, realities eventually arose. This 
was bound to be so : when a monarch disgraces, exiles and 
mprisons his most zealous servants, he will soon make enemies 
of them ; and this Paul I. was soon to experience. 

One thing troubled me as I returned to my hotel, and that was 
that almost ten years had passed dnce my hand rested on a 
woman's head, and that I was just about to make my (iist 
experiment, since my arrival in Russia, on the ilhistrious head 
of the Empress .... When I returned home, I made a pretty 
little girl whom I had seen with the hostess come up to my 
room; I be^ed her to let me do her hair, to which she readily 
consented, in return for an allowance, more than once renewed, 

of sweets After having been inactive for ten years, I found 

my hand a little heavy, and I had to seek for the inspiration 
with which my imagination used formerly to overflow. Never- 
theless my hand had not lost all its cunning; and the same 
evening I unravelled the hair of the Empress Maria, which was 
long and silky and unmingled with any of those nasty white haiis 
which distress women so. True, the Empress was not yet 
thirty -nine. 

Her Majesty, having regard no doubt to the clumsy fiashion 
in which her hair had been dressed thitherto, was greatly pleased 
with herself when she lefl my hands. I saw that it would be 
easy for me to recapture in St Petersburg the vogiu which had 
withered in Paris beneath the blast of the revolutionaiy tonpest 
Yet I will not say much of my career as coiflTeur to die 
Russian Court: it was but a pale copy of my first successes; 
a languid succession of mornings and evenings devoted exduH 
ively to the service of the comb. Those delidoua ; 

US accessories 1 


with which my life had been strewn at the Courts of Louis XV. 
and Louis XVL, those sweet prerogatives which my talent and 
my audacity had formerly gained for me, were not, and could 
not be, reproduced in St, Petersburg, where I was one day 
threatened with the knout for hinting that two or three duchesses 
had honoured me with their favours by way of gratuities thrown 
into the bargain for their coiffures . . . - 

The Russian nobility are both affable and amiable, but not 
in the sense which the French attach to the word. The Court 
of St. Petersburg has not got further than the etiquette of Louis 

XIV One laughs, in the palaces of the capital, only 

according to the rules ot d^ity, and none but the official 
buffoons are permitted to bring laughter to the lips of the great .... 
Pomp, splendour, display, these are the gods adored by the 
nobility on the banks of the Neva: appearances are the constant 
aim of the Russian nobles; to exceed others in magnificence 
and in prodigal folly is the object ot the rivalry they continually 
bear towards one another. 

Nothing, truly, could be less amusing than these contests of 
pride and vanity. Our courtiers of the olden time used to ruin 
themselves: but at least they derived some enjoyment from the 
process. If they threw their money with both hands through the 
windows, they had the diverting spectacle of seeing all the 
greedy ones below rushing to pick up their crown-pieces. The 
Russian women of quality, when engaged in that employment 
of life which everywhere forms the principal occupation of the 
fair sex, in the cares, or if you prefer, in the speculations of 
love, seem no more than the men to seek for a delight of the 

senses, a satisfaction of the heart The sentiment which, 

among Southern nations, is indulged with enthusiasm, with 
delirium, is considered by the Russian ladies a sort of ornament 
to their existence: one would think that they desire to display 
an adorer chained to their chariot in the same way as they 
cause a diamond to sparkle on their finger .... Observe that 
eye: thought sleeps in it; observe those features: they lack the 
mobility which betrays strength of impressions. Watch that 
re^;ular and somewhat heavy walk: it proclaims a laboured inten- 
tion, a careless want of decision It is as though in the 

gmerally handsome and well-proportioned bodies of the Russian 


ladies, the soul had nowhere been able to find a little dwefling- 
placc. I was fifly-two when I arrived in Russia, and I should 
have been a fool to endeavour to lay siege to the soul of the 
local beauties; but what I have heard about them from men 
younger, and consequently, in this respect, more attractive than 
myself, has confirmed the opinion I have just set down. In 
fact, after the experience I had gained in Germany, I came to 
the conclusion that voluptuousness, as we understand it in 
France, Italy and Spain, has never crossed the Rhine. 

There is, however, an exception to every general rule; and 
I, whose experience in matters of gallantry was in Russia only 
obtained from hearsay, nevertheless discovered some exceptional 
characters. One of the first ladies whose hair I dressed at 
Court was the Countess Demidoff. Oh, as to that one, she was 
a living exemplar of French manners, strayed in the direction 
of the North Pole; and all the town assured me that theze 
was nothing in the least polar about this noble lady. She her- 
self confessed so frankly. ... " One would think, my dear 
Leonard,'' she sometimes said, "that all my fellow-country- 
women had been brought up in those ice-palaces which in the 
winter they build on the Neva. ... I would wager, " she added, 
with the boisterous laugh for which she was noted, "I would 
even lay odds that out of twenty Russian couples picked at 
random, you might put eighteen to bed in a sick man's room 
without there being any danger of their awakening him. The 
atmosphere of this country overwhelms me : I promise you I 
shall run away to France on the day after we shall have signed 
peace with your Republicans." 

Madame Demidoff kept her word. She went to Paris in i8oi, 
and I believe that after that time she very rarely returned to 
Russia. She was a very handsome woman in the da3r8 when I 
used to dress her hair in St. Petersburg: her tall stature, her 
slim, supple figure possessed as much elegance as her features 

had delicacy and expression Madame Demidoff mig^t have 

been a beautiful woman, but she did not allow herself the time 
to become so, so hurried was she to run through her life as 
also through the immense fortune* of the count her husband. 

On my return to Paris, everybody was talking of M. le Comte 

* Derived from mines and from the celebrated Toula cannon-foiicdriei. 


Demidofif. There was not a dancer of the Boulevard, not a 
milliner of the Rue Vivienne, not a pretty linendraper of the 
Passage des Panoramas, not a pupil of the Conservatoire, not 
one little woman from the provinces hesitating as to the career 
she should adopt in the capital, who was not more or less 
intimately acquainted with M. le Comte Demidofif. . . . He 
always had Lebels posted on the tracks of all the black-eyed, 
neat-footed grisettes : his immense golden net never missed one 
of the frail virginities that trotted along the public streets, 
bandbox in hand, or sat sewing in their himible garret . . . 
Monsieur showed himself yet more prodigal of life than madame. . . . 
At the present time I sometimes come across this Russian 
Croesus : alas, he drags with him, in a feeble, tottering body, 
the ineflfaceable marks of his life of pleasure ; he carries the sad 
expression of it in his lack-lustre eye. Two tall flunkeys, but 
lately occupied in providing food for his vagabond passions, 
now support the fragile form which those passions have exhaust- 
ed. .. . M. Demidofif carries about in Paris, where his reputation 
is generally known, the afflicting example of the results of 
incontinency : his presence is a melancholy volume of morality 
brought into action. 

Madame la Comtesse, more delicate than the count, resem- 
bled, when seated at the banquet of life, those gluttons who 
love none but the most exquisite dishes, but who are not for 
that reason the more inclined to restrict themselves as to 
quantity. . . . Madame Demidofif also had acquired a very wide- 
spread fame when I returned to Paris, and her health seemed 
to have become greatly enfeebled. * 

I had no lack of occupation in St. Petersburg, and I could 
have done excellent business, had it been as easy for me to 
get paid my gold imperials or half-imperials as it was to earn 
them ; but evil times had come upon the splendid capital in 
which I had taken refuge. . . . The forttme of the Russian 
nobles consists in the number of heads of peasants (moujiks) 
that they possess. The wars, in killing oflf this hmnan cattle, 
impoverished them. Came next the colonial system, then the 

* Countess Domidoff died in 1 819, in a condition of deplorable exhaustion. 
The count survived her many years, after raising a magnificent monument tp 
her in the Eastern cemetery of Paris. 


wars again, then the invasion. . . . For more than ten yean 
misery stalked through the superb palaces that adorn the banks 
of the Neva. 

The low and marshy position of St. Petersburg contributes 
greatly to bring about the lymphatic temperament, the precocious 
obesity, for which the ladies of the country are so particularly 
remarkable. The men, especially those of the better classes, 
are differently constituted, because their lives are less sedentary. 
The Russian nobles willingly undertake long voyages ; their 
ladies rarely accompany them, and rarely desire to. Their 
apathy and love of repose are so great that they sometimes 
spend whole weeks without walking fifty paces in succession. 
In the winter they go out in sledges, in the summer in car- 
riages or droskys As to walking out, almost never. . . . Not 

being accustomed to walking, they grow fatigued at once. You 
will frequently meet in St. Petersburg this or the other countess 
or princess who will seriously inform you that she does not 
know how to walk, and she will be telling the truth ; for it is 
a fact that many a Russian woman of quality attains the age 
of twenty-five without having walked a league in her life. 

This explains the luxurious habits, the languid tastes, and 
even the absence of appetite for pleasure which one remarks 
in Russian ladies. . . . They must be under the influence of a 
keen excitement before emerging from that positive sleep of the 
senses which, without any offence, might be compared to the 
vegetating life led by the guinea-pigs during a considerable 
part of the year. For instance, there are certain dances, among 
others the mazurka, which are able to induce the Russian ladies 
to throw off their organic calmness. After that exercise, their 
fibres grow tense, their veins begin to glow, their blood liquefies 
and flows more rapidly. Their alabaster skin becomes firm and 

quick : a bright fiamc is kindled in their eyes At such a 

moment a Russian woman becomes a desirable creature: she 
has then acquired all that she generally lacks in seductiveness. 

There are only two seasons known in St. Petersburg: summer 
and winter. The t^^'o otliers pass so swiftly that their existence 
in that hyperborean clime is scarcely noticeable. The summers 
are ordinarily ver}' fine, but very short. In St. Petersbui]g the 
longest days in the year last eighteen hours and a quarter; then 


the nights are so bright that it is easy to read and write up 
to eleven o'clock at night. The evening and the early morning 
are cool, but the rest of the day exceedingly hot. 

Snow begins to fall in the month of October: it suddenly 
covers the flower-beds still strewn with roses and the loveliest 
flowers, which Nature sprinkles lavishly at the confines of the 
Pole, as though to compensate the inhabitants for removing them 
so soon. In November the cold is very keen along the banks 
of the Neva, and the river is covered with floating ice. Winter 
is always severe in St. Petersburg. But this very rigour of the 
climate has a salutary eflect: for while it lasts, the insalubrious 
atmosphere of which I have spoken becomes healthier : it is the 
season of the year in which fewest sicknesses reign in the capital 
of the Czars. It should be added that this is also the time 
when the passions emerge from their foggy swaddling-clothes 
and become pronounced and alive: in a word, winter is more 
fatal to chastity in St Petersburg than elsewhere . . . What would 
you? The springs of the physical constitution, growing tense, 
often burst through the bonds of virtue and principles 

The shortest day at St. Petersburg lasts five hours and a half ; 
the weather has to be but a little misty at this period of solstice, 
and the inhabitants of the town must burn lights all through 
the day. 

It is a very common thing for the ice on the Neva to attain 
a thickness of twenty or twenty-four inches. It is then that it 
is hewn, as though it were stone, and that those magical ice- 
palaces are constructed of which travellers have written so much. 
The Empress Catherine in 1760 built one of these palaces on 
the Neva ; it was fifty-two feet long by sixteen deep and twenty 
high. The walls were no less than three feet in thickness : which 
nevertheless permitted a glimpse, through their transparent part- 
itions, of beds, chairs, tables, harpsichords, glowing hearths and 
lighted candles. Before this fairy monument stood pyramids, 
statues, two mortars and six pieces' of artillery, all in ice. One 
of the guns was tried with four ounces of powder: the bullet 
bored a two-inch plank at sixty paces, and neither the cannon 
nor the gun-carriage was damaged. 

The taste for dancing had not become general in Russia in 
the first ten years of the century, and it was rare, even at Court, 


to spend tlie whole night at a ball People are generally 

very sleepy m St. Petersburg; and it is for that reason that 
suppers, those suppers at which cherries are served which cost 
a small croA^n apiece, pears at a louis, and pine-apples at five- 
hundred francs, commence very early. The Russians are not exactly 
epicures, but tliey love display at their meals as everywhere. 
They seek out delicate dishes, not so much because they are 
exquisite, as because they are dear: they have what one might 
call the vanity of the stomach. 

Many great Russian nobles keep up, even when travelling, 
troops of musicians, actors and dancers ; and you cannot imagine 
how easily they train their peasants in the practice of all these 
arts. This is due to the almost inconceivable powers of mimicry 
with which the Russian nation is gifted. A nobleman who 
wishes to form a troop of comedians says to one of his moujiks, 
" Be a marquis " ; to another, ** Be a hero " ; to a third, " Be a 
king''; and the serfs lay aside their sheepskin gabardines, their 
hoes and axes, to don the spangled gown, to seize the sceptxe 
of Mithridates, to arm themselves with Brutus' dagger .... 
Should they, however, accidentally suffer from a slow imagi- 
nation, there is a universal professor in waiting, the stick, ready 
to iTcate prodigies of intelligence. 

I have seen in the Russian churches and chapels pictures 
copied from the works of the great masters by men taken from 
the wildest districts of the vast Empire of the Czars; and I 
doubt whether our most celebrated painters, if they would con- 
descend to the laborious work of copying, could produce such 
good results as did the rastic painters whose work I had occa- 
sion to admire. Nevertheless these artists are absolutely void 
of inspiration : their sole talent consists in being able to imitate 
with such perfect fidelity that tlie most expert eye would be 
unable to discover the slightest difference between the copy and 
the original. 


Further descriptions — St. Peter's Day at the Palace of PetershoflF — French 
(^migrants in St. Petersburg — How to get rid of a conjugal rival — M. le Due dc 
Vicence — Death of Paul I. — A ctirlcd and painted corpse — Why I did not return 
to France in x8oo — My expectations in 18x4. 

The Empress Maria deigned to take a great interest in me, 
an interest afterwards shared by the noble and beautiful Czarina 
Elisabeth Alexievna, consort to the Emperor Alexander. The 
Autocrat Paul also showed me many kindnesses which I shall 
never forget, although I have had more than once to bear the 
brunt of those fits of ill-himiour by which he often allowed 
himself to be carried away. 

Though the Czar was very distrustful and suspicious, I received 
my right of free entrance to the Imperial palaces within a few 
months after my arrival at St. Petersburg. I am therefore able 
to give a brief description of them. The Winter Palace was no 
longer so frequently occupied by the sovereign as it had been 
during the reign of the Empress Catherine, that passionate 
woman in every sense of the word : as prescribed by glory, 
ambition, pride and especially love. The Winter Palace was 
peculiarly adapted to the intimate habits of the Semiramis of 
the North : it communicates with the Hermitage, which she 
favoured, and the latter was adjacent to the theatre, which 
under her reign was always provided with an excellent company 
of comedians. All this amiy of contiguous buildings, erected 
on the bank of the Neva, produces a vcrj' imposing effect, 
although when examined in detail it offends the sight. The 
Winter Palace covers an immense area ; but its architecture, 
which is irregular and overloaded with decoration, provokes the 
criticism of the most indulgent connoisseurs. 

The Marble Palace * is in no better taste : it is notable for many 
gross mistakes, such as columns and pillars of different orders, 

• Burnt down in 1838. 



although ahnost touching one another, and windows of different 
sizes in the same room. An effort was made to redeem the 
artistic defects of this edifice by sheer magnificence : it disp]a>'8 
a wealth of bronze, marble and rare stones, and the fiiniiture is 
exceedingly rich and is said to have cost ten millions of francs. 

The Palace of Petershoff, on the Bay of Cronstadt, ten miles 
from St. Petersburg has been greatly beautified since the accession 
of the Emperor Alexander, in memory of Peter the Great, for 
whom it was built by the French architect Leblond. The road 
leading from the capital to this pleasance displa3rs, in fine 
weather, the most smiling and animated aspect It is bordered 
on either side by elegant villas and enchanting gardens, in which 
the nobility take advantage of the all too short summer heat to 
dispel the remembrance of the rigours of the climate. 

Every year, in honour of the illustrious founder of Peterhoff, 
the festival of St. Peter is celebrated here with the greatest bril- 
liancy. ... It is the Longchamps of St. Petersburg, but a masked 
Longchamps, which renders the spectacle as animated as it is 
picturesque. Four or five thousand persons of both sexes come 
from the capital to assist at this solenmity. At nightfall the 
palace, the gardens, the canals and the yachts are suddenly 
illuminated. In all the rooms and in every part of the garden 
are refreshments in abundance ; and at two o'clock in the morning 
a number of long tables are laid out upon which a splendid 
supper is served. The guests take their places in turns; fht 
empty dishes are immediately replaced until all the visitois have 
supped. This prolongs the repast until daybreak. 

Montplaisir is another little country-seat, built in the Dutch 
style by Peter the Great. He occupied it frequently, and they 
still show the bed which he shared in his homely way with the 
brown Catherine I., whom he made an Empress, and who showed 
after his death that she understood the art of reigning. Mont- 
plaisir lies at the end of the Petershoff gardens, upon the Golf 
of Finland. . . . This position delighted the conqueror of Charies 
XII. : he loved the S(^und of the gulf, which was as stormy as 
his own character. 

As a rule, the French emigrants in St. Petersburg did not 
remain faithful to the Russian capital ; nor was the inhospitable 
climate the only drawback which drove thema way. These cmi» 


grants cx>nsisted principally of dressmakers, artists and teachers 
of both sexes. The actresses, and particularly the dancers, were 
on the crest of this wave of ambitious travellers: it was at St 
Petersburg that I first saw Mademoiselle Georges, then in all 
the brilliancy of her striking youth and beauty. Next to the 
ladies of the theatre came the milliners and linendrapers. . . . 
When unmarried, they enjoyed, oh ! the most delightful destinies : 
they became baronesses and countesses, sometimes in name as 
well as in deed ; but married, it was a different thing : the great 
in Russia have never been able to endure the presence of con- 
jugal rivals by their mistresses' side. A husband who followed 
his wife from Paris might give as many evidences of a philosophic 
temperament as he pleased, he remained an eyesore to the titular 
lover. To get rid of him was the simplest operation : four tall 
Cossacks made their way to his residence, carried him off, put 
him into a postchaise with a decent provision of roubles, and 
whip up, coachman, for France ! 

During the reign of the Emperor Napoleon, these little feudal 
acts frequently took place under the very eyes of the handsome Due 
de Vicence,* the French Ambassador; but he had no time to 
take cognisance of them, the Emperor Alexander was too amiable 
unth him. The diplomat brought over from Paris such delicious 
fal-lals for the Empress Elisabeth, and that sovereign, so good, so 
kind, whose very voice was a caress, thanked him with such 
graciousness, that he could not find the leisure to interest himself 
on behalf of the milliners* expelled husbands: nor did those 
young ladies ever ask him to. 

Paul I. died suddenly, as ever\'one knows, in the month of 
March, 1801. Many conjectures have been hazarded as to the 
cause of this unexpected death ; and in the interest of my pub- 
lisher, if I ever have one, I shall not repeat one of them . . . t 
Certain books are treated, on their arrival in Russia, with as 
scant courtesy as that extended to tlie milliners* husbands; and 

• Arm and Augustin I^uis dc Caulincourt, Due dc Vicrnce, 1773 — 1827, a 
Buonapartist general not without distinction, was ai)iK>intrd Ambassador to 
St. Petersburg in 1807. In 181 1 he took part in the Moscow campaign, and 
was subsequently sent on various missions to the Allied Sovereigns, before whom 
he pleaded the inten'sts of the King of Rome. He left interesting memoirs 
of the First Empire, published between 1837 and 1840 under the title of 
Souvrnin du due de Vuence. 

f Paul I. was strangled by some of his nobles on the 23rd of March, 180X. 


I should be in despair if mine, presuming that book there will 
be, should be placed on the index of the director of police, a 
functionary of whom I beg to declare myself the very humble 

I will content myself, therefore, with saying that the late Fanl 
I. was an emperor endowed with more than the ordinary allow- 
ance of personal hideousness, and that he did not recover, 
after his death, a nobility of feature with which he had not been 
favoured in life. Nevertheless, it was necessary that, according 
to custom, he should be exhibited before the eyes of the people; 
and means were sought to diminish as much as possible the 
effect of the rapid and revolting decomposition of His defunct 
Majesty's features. I was sent for to the P^dace to advise upon 
this expedient. When I stood in presence of the corpse, I 
realized that the alteration in the &ce was due rather to the 
actual colour of the skin than to any displacement of the muscles, 
and I thought that ^^nth the aid of a little white and rouge, 
cunningly applied, I could succeed in giving a more life-like 
colour to this dead flesh. I next brushed up and curled the 
Emperor's hair; and in the end I succeeded in restoring this 
face, in which decomp>osition had already begun its hideous 
work, so well, that Paul I. was actually less ugly on his state 
bed of death than he had been while living. 

I had just reached my fifty-fifth year when I thus set the 
last touch to the edifice of my reputation. I had followed the 
career of a hair-dresser in all its ramifications; I had distin- 
guished myself in the invention of every style of head-dress; no 
shade, no texture of hair had escaped the exercise of my art; 
but one thing was wanting to achieve my gloiy: the exploit of 
dressing the hair and painting the face of a corpse. This last 
complementary feat I achieved on the 24th of March, 1801. 

I have said enough of my sixteen years' sojourn in St Pe- 
tersburg to show with what great satisfaction I learnt in 181 4 
that I could return to France, as I had so long desired. I 
cannot deny that my ccjuntry had been open to me ever since 
the famous amnesty of 1800, and my readers will understand 
that, Gascon though I was, I did not consider m}'self of suffi- 
cient importance to assume any airs towards the Imperial Gov- 
ernment. The fact that I did not then return to France was 


due to considerations of less serious policy. Wherever I might 
establish myself, the misfortune of the times would compel me 
to live up>on my comb. Now I said to myself, " What should 
I do in a Court that dresses its hair, male and female, like 
Titus? I am too old now to become the supreme arbiter of 
hair-dressing in Paris. During my absence, Michalon, Caron and 
Armand have sprung up from the crowd, and have fashioned 
their style upon the military habits of the period. I dressed the 
ladies' hair in an embroidered silk coat with point lace cufis ; 
they, in a hunting-frock and spurs. I drove to my clients in a 
carriage and pair; they ride on horseback: there is now in the 
capital of the French Empire a corps of equestrian hair-dressers, 
while I have not been seen in the saddle since my melancholy 
first experience in horsemanship on the road from Paris to 
Montmedy in 1791." I argued thus, and remained in St Pe- 
tersburg until 1 8 14. 

But then the return of the Bourbons gave me fresh and more 
smiling hopes. "It is no longer," said I, "Leonard the coif- 
feur whom H.M. Louis XVIIL, will reward: it is the faithful 
Royalist who has given proofs of unlimited devotion in the ser- 
vices which he has rendered not only to the late King and 
Queen, but also to the reigning monarch and his august brother. 
Among the many appointments which, will now be in his gift, 
His Majesty is no doubt reserving some honourable and lucrative 
place for his old servant Leonard, for his banker at Verona. 
Ah, I shall be a happy man in France, and I shall at least 
find in my dear native land a comer in which to lay my mortal 
remains." And when this flower}*, gilded perspective opened 
out before me, I quitted St. Petersburg almost without r^et, 
although I left more than one object of afiection behind me . . . 
But I hoped that the richly embroidered mantle in which I was 
mentally wrapping my destiny would prove large enough also to 
cover those whom I loved. You shall see how this fine dream 
was realized. 


A word on Moiuoigncur te Due il'Angoutfmp'i honnymoon — A kIucc at Ac 
Tuilerin in 1S14 — And at new Paris— M. le Comle d'Aitm*'^ mcBCc;— I 

teceirc an empluj'menl at Court. 

In rrnssing Courland, I passed Mittau, and visited the little 
countr>-house which the King had inhabited, with all the venera- 
tion uf a pilgrim to Mecca visiting the tomb of the Prophet. I 
there found a woman of mature yeais who had waited upon 
His Majesty and more particularly upon Madame la Duchesse 
d'AngoulSme at the lime of her marriage. This talkative Cotu- 
lander told me all the details of the ceremony, which she had 
followed closely, she said, from the nuptial benediction to well 
beyond the putting to bed of the bride. I will not repeat here 
the singularly picturesque and outspoken remarks which were 
made to me; I will only say that they concluded with the 
question, " Has Her Royal Highness any children ? " I answered 
no, and she replied, "I would have wagered on it" That 
woman must have listened more than once at the doors during 
the lirst married months of Monseigneur le Due d'AngoulSme. 

On my arrival in Paris, the approaches to the Tuileries were 
so greatly obstructed by sf>licitants who either belonged to the 
legions of the faithful or promised to enrol themselves that I 
was unable to penetrate to Monscigneur le Comte d'Artois, whan 
I wished to see first, hoping that he would deign to present me 
to the King. A whole week pa.ssed before I could even catch 
a glimpse of His Royal Highness across that compact crowd. 

The absolute chaos which prevailed in Paris at tha ttime hi* 
been l<v> often described by capable pens that it should be 
necessary for me to add to their narratives. I wiH content 
myself with saying that the ph>-siognomy of our cajfHtal i 
strange to mc; not because it had become the gatb 



of every ambition: this I expected; but because of the unspeak- 
able changes which had supervened in the last twenty-six years 
over the habits and tastes of the capital to which I was at last 
returning. Everything combined to astonish my eyes and ears. 
On the site which I remembered as that of a duke's mansion, 
I found a row of booths where they sold slippers and eau-de- 
Cologne. Beneath the cloister of the convent of the Filles- 
Saint-Thomas, where I had seen the good nuns chanting their 
matins and telling their beads between their fingers, I now 
beheld wanton courtesans promenading between two rows of 
well-lighted shops, provoking the passers-by with lewd remarks 
and alluring gestures. On the boulevard, the gardens of the 
Hotel de Montmorency have disappeared: the Passage des 
Panoramas takes their place. No more leafy shades, no more 
statues and vases, no more cunningly laid-out flower-beds, no 
more Chinese pagoda, sixty-six feet high, with its thousand 
little bells shaken by the evening breeze: but elegant shops, 
where diamonds gleam, or cashmere and silky stuffs unfold them- 
selves, or the rakish hat seems to smile to the little dancer who 
longs to purchase it, while the young Russian officer, with chest 
puffed out, who is giving the young bayadere his arm, pretends 
not to see the hint she gives him. Further on, the pastrycook's 
art, at whose development I sometimes stand astounded, displays 
a thousand sweetmeats .... Near at hand the boot-blacks, 
constituted into a trade, polish the boots of men in a boudoir 
fit for a petite mattresse^ and delicately handle the brush with 
a hand issuing from the sleeve of a black coat .... I read over 
the door of this establishment, " Aux Artistes r/unis ". . . . When 
the boot-black lays aside his brush, and the boot-blacked leaves 
the velvet seat upon which he has been languidly reclining, I 
will defy you to distinguish the master from the servant. 

In the streets, a thousand equipages are to be seen, splen- 
didly emblazoned ; but the coats of arms displayed to my view 
are all new to me : in ten years the Empire has gathered suffi- 
cient lustre to replace the heraldic achievements of fourteen 

I behold nothing but contrasts. The depot of the French 
Guards, in whose courtyard I saw each morning from my window 
the sergeant inspecting his men, is now replaced by elegant houses ; 

Tou n. 20 


instead of the square-cut faces, the heads coated with a layer 
of pommade and powder which I formerly looked out on, I 
now sec smiling little milliners, with black eyes, white teeth, 

and throats like nightingales The French Guards have 

become generals, their sergeants marshals of the Empire. 

Nowadays, the nobility are educated : the sons of the counts 
of the Empire know Latin and Greek, they have taken their 
bachelor's degree ; their sisters play the piano, paint landscapes 
in oils, write verses which are read at die Ath£n6e, and know 
how to spell. 

In the shops in the Rue Saint-Denis, all the tradesmen know 
arithmetic, keep their books by double entry, write like Ro- 
land, and sign their names with a flourish. 

There are no cobblers in Paris now, no bakers, grocers, lur 
wineshop-keepers, but "booteries, " "bakeries," "groceries,' 
and " wine-dealers. " It would no longer be possible for the 
corps of wig-makers to bring an action against my colleagues, 
for there are no longer any wig-makers in Paris : there is 
none but hair- dressers, although I have not yet seen a single 

Fonnerly you met none but red heels at the Tuileries: to- 
day you hear nothing but the clatter of spurs. They hum the 
refrain of the latest comic opera there, and they swear like 
Grenadiers, whetlier they have been so or not. 

But there is one compensation. Before the Revolution, the 
caf<&s were gloomy resorts, painted in grey, with wretched looking- 
glasses, clumsy tables, cumbrous benches, a great stove with an 
enormous copper pipe to it, ending in a huge bowl ofthe same 
metal. At the counter sat a woman, generally ugly, in a cap 
of doubtful cleanliness, with her bosom concealed behind a 
loosely-tied kerchief; while a waiter in a filthy apron, a corks- 
cTew hanging from liLs belt, served the customers slowly beneath 
the light of a smoky lamp. 

In 1814, every cafi has become a little temple gUtteringwith 
gilding, brilliant with mirrors and paint, and Booded with lig^ 
The counter has become an altar. ... for the woman sittis; 
behind it, of intoxicating beauty, and dazzling with the q>leo- 
dour of jewellery and dress, receives from an eager crowd the 
homage due to a divinity. True that each night she 


to become the Venus of some Adonis or the Phoebe of some 
Endymion. . . . 

I had ample time for astonishment and admiration before 
being admitted to the presence of M. le Comte d'Artois; but 
at last His Royal Highness received me, and promptly told 
me that I had become very ugly. 

You will perhaps find it difficult to believe that I was pleased 
with this negative compliment which the Prince thought fit to 
pay me ; but you will understand when I tell you that to my 
mind this proved that Monsieur remembered that I had not 
always been ugly, and that consequently he had a memory. 
You can easily guess why I was charmed to learn this. 

Delighted to find that the King's brother possessed that 
powerful memory which I feared he had lost, I told him in 
pretty clear phrases that hair-dressers did not make their for- 
tune in Russia, especially when they resumed the comb at fifty- 
two and continued using it till they were sixty-eight. His Royal 
Highness said nothing to the contrary; but whether his memory 
had overstrained itself when recollecting that I had once been good- 
looking, or that it was incapable for the moment of remembering 
me to better purpose, I left this audience and several others 
without obtaining anything from Monsieur. 

At last His Royal Highness deigned to grant me the post 
of doorkeeper to his private apartments .... There was a wide 
gulf between this employment and the patent of nobility pro- 
mised me by Louis XVI. ; but the King had as yet only smiled 
to me from a distance, and I thought I caught the reflection 
of a kindly recollection in his smile .... I waited and hoped. 


Doubtful debts — The official of the civil list — Count and Countew T>rlTiniVi 
Lucctto reappears upon the scene — A second Opdra-Comique theatre^llT 
efforts to obtain the privilege of opening it. 


In the month of June, 1814, I succeeded in obtaining several 
consecutive audiences of the King. HLs Majesty always received 
me with kindness, but my position remained unchanged : I was 
doorkeeper to Monsieur until 18 18. Whenever His Majesty 
came acn^ss me in my black coat and with the chain round 
my neck, both before and after the journey to Ghent, I was 
always honoured with his friendly words and his gracious smile. 
The Princes and Madame la Duchesse d'Angouleme also dis- 
played the greatest interest in me, in words: but my situation 
became no more prosperous. 

One morning, on waking, it struck me that I mi^t give a 
hint as to the old debt due to me to an official of considerable 
power in matters of the Civil List. I had daily opportunities of 
seeing this person, who was always very affable to me ; and I 
speedily decided to speak to him of my former functions as 
banker to the Royal family, feeling certain that I had hit upon 
a happy thought. 

One day when he came to wait upon the Prince, I told him 
that I wished to speak with him for a moment, if he would 
tell me when it would be most convenient for him. 

" Why, my dear Monsieur Leonard," he replied, " I can hear 
what you have to say at once, since I am here." 

"That is too good of you, monsieur le comte." 

"Not at all, not at all, pray go on." 

"I will take advantage, then, of your kind permission, mon- 
sieur le comic," said I, leading this high official to the embra- 
sure of a window. And I told my story to him as briefly as 



possible, giving him a little memorandum of the simis I had 
long ago lent the Princes, and concluding by asking him if he 
would deign to bring my matter before the King. 

The official wagged his head several times before replying, and 
bit his nails, after the fashion of those who seek a good excuse 
without finding one. At last he said: 

** It's a bad business, my dear Monsieur Leonard. I have no 
doubt that the King and the Princes of his family have every 
intention of paying, sooner or later, the debts which they con- 
tracted during the emigration; but I fear that at present your 
demand would be deucedly premature: I will go further, I 
think it would be dangerous." 

"What, dangerous?" 

" Well, yes ! At Court, as elsewhere, the best way of con- 
veying that a request is considered inopportune is to get angry 
at it. Listen, you are a discreet man; I will give you an insight 
into the matter in question . . . Monsieur le Comte d'Artois had 
a creditor in England who for a long time displayed the greatest 
patience and had even perhaps resigned himself to a loss, but 
who has become very pressing since His Royal Highness has 
taken his place on the first step of the Throne . . . That is just 
what I have now come to discuss with Monsieur. I have had 
more conversations with him on this subject, and up to the 
present I have never been able to get a word out of him which 
I could convey to the anxious Englishman." 

"That I can imagine, monsieur le comte: His Royal Highness 
has many calls upon him; he is perhaps pressed: and I should 
refrain from reminding him of a little claim which I have upon 
him personally. But the King . . ." 

"The King, my dear Leonard, is much worse..." 

" Really ? " 

"Listen, I will tell you of some one you know: I have lying 
on my desk the properly authenticated claim of assigns of your 
old friend, Mademoiselle Bertin, to whom Madame de Provence 
owed about 6o,cxx> francs. What should you think the King 
replied when I mentioned it to him? Parodying the Due 
d'Orleans' remark when he became Louis XII., * he said, smiling, 

• Vide Supra t footnote p. 127, vol. I. 


it is true, 'The King of France does not pay the debts of the 
Comte do Provence. The jest is so merry, our good King 
thinks, that he repeats it to me whenever the question cn^ 
up of other debts of the old days." 

" But mine dates back to a time when His Majesty was already 

"You mistake, Leonard: where his debts are concerned, the 
King only commences his reign in 1814. Believe me, do not 
touch that string for the present: it would make a most unweT- 
come sound in the King's ear. Have patience: better times may 
come, and then wc can bring the matter up again ... I will 
tell you when the proper moment arrives . . ." And so saying, 
the official of the civil list, gently recalling me to my functions 
as doorkeeper, begged me to open Monsieur's door for him. I 
did so, thanking him for his advice. 

Thus was shattered the beautiful casde in Spain which I had 
built up one morning on awaking. I r^retted it vastly, but what 
could I do ? 

I had found many of my old acquaintances in Paris, and 
many had striven to be of use to me. Others, whose credit 
had fallen with the Empire, were only able to offer me a cordis 
welcome. Among those whose purse as well as their hearts was 
opened to me so soon as f arrived in Paris, I must mention 
Count and Countess Delvinski. The brave Pole had received 
promotion, crosses, titles, gifts and wounds on eveiy battle-fidd 
to which he had followed the Emperor ; but of all this there 
remained nothing but his pension, which he feared he should 
see reduced, and his scars, which he was quite certain of pre- 
serving undiminished. The count had gone to reside with his 
wife in the valley of Alontmorency. * Julie, who had attained 
her sixty-eighth year, was younger than the general who was 
not yet fifty-five. After having danced at the Opera, reigned 
in a fashion at Norkittcn, mounted artificial flowers in London, 
and fought in Poland, she now pruned her fhut-trees and grew 
her cabbages in the valley of Montmorency. Never had I seen 
a woman more practically philosophical nor more resigned to the 
fickle caprices of Fortune. 


"There is only one thing I cannot get used to," said Julie 
to me one day as we were walking in her garden, while the 
general, reclining in a long-chair and resting one of his legs, 
which had been frost-bitten in Russia, on a stool, smoked cigar 
upon cigar in a sad reverie. 

" What is that, countess, what is it that you cannot get used 
to ? " I asked my old friend, with an interest full of the still 
delightful memories of our former intimacy. 
* " I cannot get used to growing old, Leonard. . . . And Laure, 
what has become of her ? " 

" What I expected. . . . she has turned religious." 

** What are we coming to ! " 

** Yes, the wife of General, or if you prefer, of Father Joseph, 
has just entered one of the convents which Louis XVIII. has 
authorized to serve as an asylum for some hundreds of old 
women who have not your privilege, Julie, of remaining young 
while ageing, and who having nothing more agreeable left to do 
on earth, start at a gallop on the road to Heaven, to make up 
for the time devoted to ambling in the opposite direction." 

** I assure you, Leonard, that Laure has no time to lose." 

I had also found again in Paris another person who had been 
very dear to me, and who had no intention of taking the veil, 
like Laure, nor of planting cabbages, like Julie : I mean Lucette, 
that third volume in the chronicle of my fondest loves. This 
charming Parisian was reaching the age at which, the older one 
grows, the younger one pretends to be. Lucette only confessed 
to thirty-seven, although I could not accept the reduction of 
the six years out of which she cheated her adorers : for she 
still had adorers. Lucette enjoyed tolerably easy circumstances, 
composed of spoils of the Republic, the Consulate, the Empire 
and the commencement of the Restoration : as one would say 
a harlequin destiny, richly spangled. 

The daughter of my former porter still frequented the public 
offices every day: she knew all their corridors, all their secret 
doors, all the small sofas used by the chiefs of offices, all the 
large, soft sofas used by the chiefs of departments. Her writing- 
desk was always full of blank audience-permits, just as M. de 
Sartines' used to be full of blank lettres de cachet \ and all the 
porters and messengers were devoted, to her, and so soon as one of 


the latter saw her going in to one of the chief clerks, he knew, 
without being told, that that clerk was "engaged with the Minister." 

Under the Empire, Lucette used to say, "My dear duke" to 
Fouche, • and she never addressed Regnault de Saint-Jean-d'An- 
gely t except as ** my little count . . . ." Nevertheless I thought 
that the latter was a man of good stature; but women have 
their own ideas of proportion. 

Lucette retained for me all her good-heartedness of old; she 
had loved the brilliant Leonard as his mistress; she liked the 
old Leonard as a friend. One morning when I called upon 
her, her servant had hardly announced my name before she 
cried, "Come here, Papa Leonard," and she tapped with her 
hand upon the sofa on which she was sitting beside a middle- 
aged man, bedizened with jewellery like a dowager of the Rue 
Saint-Dominique. And she continued, so soon as I was seated: 

"Do you ever pass the Th6Stre Feydeau, which used to 
belong to you, without experiencing a deep emotion?" 

"Truly, no, madame; the sight of that theatre alwaj-s gives 
me a great pain at my heart." 

"And has it never entered your mind, simple man that yoa 
are, that there was some compensation due to you?" 

" Ah, my child, I have no right to look to Louis XVIII. for it." 

"And why not, monsieur? I hold, on the contrary', that it 
is just he who owes it to you. Was it not for his family that 
you left France? What am I saying? Have you not made 
personal samfices for His Majesty himself?" 

"No doubt, my dear Lucette; but all tliat is almost foigotten : 
I have noticed, generally, that everj'one concerned in the emi- 
gration lost hLs memory on cro.ssing the Channel, just as much 
as though that branch of the sea had been the Lethe of my 

" Very well ; but supposing the King could make your fortune 
without disbursing one louis d'or?" 

*'Ah, nonsense." 

"Yes, my clear Leonard. A big Royal sign-manual, at the 
bottom of a little (^rdcr ten lines long, and we recapture the 

• Joseph Fout'lu's till* j>olico- minister, was created Due d'Obanto 
bv Nap«»lr«m. 

f Miilul I^mis l^:tirnn<- Rfjfnault do Saint-Jo:ui-d*Ang«'ly, 1781— 1819, Coun- 
cillor of Stall", Count of tlu" Empire, etc., vU:. 


fortune you have lost. Listen to me : the French are just as 
they always were ; they want sights, they want many sights, even 
when they have no bread to eat. Now that the great theatre 
of war, in which each was an actor in his turn, is closed for a 
good number of years, naturally the play within four walls must 
atone for what we have lost in the open air. The theatre, 
therefore, has become a subject of speculation, and our fondness 
for emotions is already being quoted on the Bourse. Now it 
is certain that a second Opera-Comique theatre would do 
better business now than our Theatre de Monsieur did twenty- 
six or t>\'enty-seven years ago ; but a privilege is necessary 
before opening a second Opera-Comique, and that privilege is 
due to you, incontestably due to you : it is only a question of 
asking for it. Monsieur de Provence is now King of France, 
and he cannot refuse this slight favour to the former proprietor 
of his favourite theatre. " 

" And the building, where is it ? " 

" In the quarries of Arcueil ; but do not bother about that. 
As soon as you have the order in your pocket, monsieur here," 
said Lucettc, nodding to the man in the diamonds, "will place 
two millions of francs at your disposal. " 

I confess I was so smitten with the probability of success 
that I rose on the spot, took my hat, and hastened to the 
Pavilion do Marsan to speak to M. le Comte d*Artois of the 
privilege wliich it seemed so easy to obtain. 


The family council at tho Pavilion dc Marsan — Pctitiont and their 

The magical efifects of a dinner — I become Ordercr-in- Chief of State 

My installation .... Leonard at the fiincral of the Prince de Cond^ — Death of 


When I reached the Pavilion de Marsan, the moment seemed 
favourable for speaking to Monsieur: he was with Monaeigneur le 
Due and Madame la Duchess d'Angouleme, who had both 
assured me that they took the greatest interest in me ; I felt 
that I should get my privilege in a trice. His Royal Highness 
had deigned to grant me the right of entering his apartments 
at all times, independently of my functions as his usher; and 
I accordingly entered the drawing-nx>m in which the ilhistrious 
personages were sitting, and told them with respectful assurance 
that I had come to solicit their kind recommendation to His 

" Wliat is it about, Leonard ?" asked Monsieur, affably. 

"Your Royal Highness will perhaps deign to remember that 
I was at one time the owner of the TheStre de Monsieur, 
which has now become the Theatre Feydeau. " 

"And national property," interruptcnJ the Prince. 

" .\Ias, yes, Monseigneur, and unfortunately there is m> rcciw- 

erin<:: il. " 

"Oh, oh, oh," replied Monsieur, "how quickly you make iq> 
vour mind, Master Leonard. . . . But to return to what vou 
were j:«»in«i: to ask me." 

''This is my case, Monseigneur. I have just been told that 
it an (*xeell<'nt spt^ulation to fi»und a sea>nd Opera* 
(oiniquc theatre, and that if I were so fortunate as to obtaun 
a privilr^c, the rest would he very easy. ..." 

" Kas\ to huild a theatre wliich would cost fifteen to eighteen 



hundred thousand francs!" cried M. le Due d'Angouleme. ** Who 
told you that?" 

** A person who is holding two millions at my disposal, against 
the sight of the Royal order." 

There was a moment's silence in the room. The three Royal 
personages exchanged questioning looks. M. le Due d'Angou- 
leme picked his nose with his customary activity, while the 
Princess crossed her legs alternately one over the other, in sign 
of impatience, thus allowing me to see that they were very well 
made. It was she who was the first to reply to my question. 

" What, Monsieur Leonard, do you wish to embark upon a 
theatrical enterprise ?" said Madame d*Angouleme, with the loud 
voice which she made no efiort to moderate whenever she was 
displeased with anything. " You are wrong .... there are quite 
enough theatres in Paris." 

** There are even too many," added Monsieur, " and they are 
so many meeting-houses of the opposition. Jacobin or Buona- 
partist, in which they proclaim every night the acts and deeds 
of the Revolution and what they call the glories of the Empire." 

"That's true, that's true," said M. le Due d'AngoulSme. 
" There is not a flighty farce performed nowadays but it provokes 
either revolutionary or Imperialist sympathies." 

" But those sympathies are nowhere to be met with," I hastened 
to reply, hoping to forward my cause with a little speculative 
flattery. "Your Royal Highness cannot believe that in the 
bosom of a paternal government the French can regret a state 
of affairs which decimated their families once a year." 

"Master Leonard," exclaimed Monsieur, "I regret to see one 
of our faithful servants, a man of a religious tendency, at least 
I hope so, thinking of becoming a theatrical manager." * 

" I do not wish to become a manager, mon Prince : I have 
not the knowledge to become so, for that matter. I only propose 
to profit by the privilege." 

" And thus to add to the number of schools of scandal and 
immorality," said Madame d'Angouleme, in the sharp, dry tone 
in which she used to show her great displeasure. 

• The Duchesse de Gontaut, in her memoirs, dates the Comte d*Aitois' moral 
conversion to the death of the Vicomtesse de Polastron, his last mistress, and 
to her death-bed appeals, of which the duchess gives a very graphic description. 
This occurred at Brompton, during the English period of the emigration. 


"What di.» you think of it, Bern-?" asked Monsieur le Comtc 
d'Arti >Ls 1 *f that Prince, who had just come in and who had heard 
the end (A tlie conversation. 

"Well, really, Sir, I do not think that the King's gr>vem- 
ment can well be compromised because there is one theatre the 
more in Paris. You know my way of looking at these things: 
the m« tre we give way to the tastes of the French, and the less we 
drive them out of their habits and preferences, the more they 
will love us. Besides, if Leonard is refused the privil^e of a 
second Opcra-Comique, another will obtain it ; because ministers 
will always make Kings sign documents so long as conunissions 
and bonuses continue to keep up the persuasive eloquence of 
statesmen. And then this lucrative enterprise will perhaps fall 
into the hands of some ultra-liberal, who will turn his theatie 
into a club, after His Majesty has refused the same favour to 
a good and faithful servant." 

"Oh, as for you, Monsieur le Due," said Madame d'Angou* 
leme, with a meaning smile, " your decided taste for the theatres 
is well known, and you would be quite happy to see them 

" Why not, Madame, since it the people among whom 
we live ? For if God gives us the right to govern them, there 
is surely nothing to oppose our doing so, as much as possible, 
without contradicting all their inclinations." 

" Really, Monsieur de Berry, you are si>eaking like a mem- 
ber of the Left in the Chamber of Deputies." 

" That will do, my children," said Monsieur, just in time to 
prevent *a biting reply from hLs son Charles Ferdinand, who 
sometimes came and played at opposition in the Pavilion dc 
Marsan. Then turning to me with some humour, His Royal 
Highness continued, " As for you, Leonard, since you are bent 
upon your Opera-Comique, draw up a petition to the Minister 
of the Interior .... we shall see that it is supported." 

After this reply, which did not impress me as very reassuring, 
I bowed and withdrew. 

I saw Lu( ettc that evening, and told her of what had taken 
place at the palace. 

"Y(»u will receive no support fn^m the Royal Family," she 
sail!, suddenly : " Madame la Duchesse d*Angouleme has spoken 


against your request, and that is sufficient ... It is really a pity 
that M. le Due de Berry has not a preponderating voice in the 
council; he understands the period we live in, and knows that 
the theatre is one of its necessities, even apart from the price 
he sets upon his facilities for throwing his handkerchief to the 
dancers of the Opera . . . But it is no use speaking of that : in 
the Pavilion dc Marsan it is his illustrious sister-in-law who 
takes the chair, and we shall have some trouble in counteracting 
the veto which she is sure to pronounce against your privilege. 
However, I won't throw up the sponge." And parodying Mon- 
sieur's phrase, Lucette said, with dignity, " Draw up a petition to 
the Minister of the Interior ... we shall see that it is supported." 

I had renewed acquaintance in Paris with Madame T., the 
kind-hearted dealer in artificial flowers who in Londen had made 
herself the Providence of emigrants and aged priests. Her youngest 
son, whom I had left in London in 1792, trotting through his 
mother's shop, astride on a stick, was now a superior officer, 
broad-shouldered, his skin tanned by the heat of the camps. 
The Restoration had reduced him to that congruous portion 
which is known as half-pay. I should never have recognized the 
London child in the veteran of the Grand Army; it was he 
who introduced himself, shaking hands with me as with an old 
friend of the family, whose adventures he had heard related 
many a time by the maternal fireside. 

When I had explained my project to M. T., he was kind 
enough to undertake to draw up my first petition, and even to 
have its progress through the ministry watched by one of his 
friends who happened to have a post in the very office in 
which it would be examined. To this first petition it was ne- 
cessary that I should add a second, because I had had the 
foolish idea of handing it to the Minister myself, and it had 
got lost when M. T.'s friend came to look for it. I learnt 
later that my petition had come to light in a porcelain vase on 
the audience-room, together with some twenty others which His 
Excellency had received the same day. My duplicate application 
did not go into a funeral receptacle of this kind: on the recom- 
mendation of the clerk of whom I have spoken, and upon the 
urgent solicitations of Lucette, monsieur the chief put it into a 
nice clean envelope on which he wrote, in his finest hand. 


** Privilege for a second Opera-Comique," and left it on his desk. 
There it slept peacefully for some four months, what time many 
letters came to keep it company; and when Lucette, who was 
bent on stealing a march on the Pavilion de Marsan, came to 
speak to monsieur the chief in my favour, he replied, pointing 
to the immovable bundle of documents, "I am keeping M. 
Leonard's matter before me." And he spoke the truth: he 
could not sit down to his desk without seeing my papers ... but 
that was all . . . 

One day Lucette advised me to stimulate the zeal of my 
inactive reporter by a dainty dinner at one of the most famous 
taverns in the town. Dinners were at that time an universal 
medium of seduction, transaction and conclusion : people dined 
electorally, diplomatically, administratively, and even judicially. 

I accordingly invited the man of the report with two or three 
of his colleagues, M. T., and Lucette to a delicate banquet at 
the Cafe Riche. The ofBce-chief was both gourmand and 
gourmet: he found the dishes exquisite, the iced champagne he 
thought delicious, and the next morning my report was made. 
Lucette hastened to give me this good news, and told me that 
she would see the Minister, so that he might hold himself in 
readiness if necessary to oppose the resistance of the PavOlon 
dc Marsan. 

A fortnight passed, and I heard nothing of the report sub- 
mitted to the Minister nor of the proposed order, which I had 
heard was to be drawn up at once. 

At last, one morning when I came to do my service as usher, 
Monsieur came io the door of his room and beckoning me in, 
told me he had some good news for me. 

" Your business is settled, my dear Leonard," said His Royal 

" Has the King deigned to sign the order ? " 

" It was not necessary, and you receive . . . . " 

"The privilege to establish a second Op£ra-Comique,* I 
interrupted, carried away by an outburst of gratitude. 

" No, the post of Orderer-General of State Funerals.** 

" Your Royal Highness is right, I feel, to laugh at a man of 
seventy-three who begs for an authorization to conduct a the- 
atrical enterprise; but old age has its needs...." 


** I am not jesting, Leonard ; you are the Orderer-General of 
State Funerals: the place carries a salary of twelve thousand francs, 
with no trouble, without even any functions .... a real sinecure. 
As to your privilege, you must not think of that any more: it 
gave rise to scruples, you see, at the palace; and besides it 
seemed, I don*t know why, that your request greatly annoyed 
M. le Due d*Aumont . . . ." 

•'Ah, I understand!'' 

** And finally, you also had a formidable competitor at 

the same time as yourself, they were petitioning for a fifth or 
a sixth comedy theatre. Some dramatic author or other was 
clever enough to persuade Madame la Duchesse de Berry to 
speak to the King in your rival's favour .... He received the 
preference .... I repeat, you must think of that no longer." 

These last words were spoken in a tone that admitted of no 
reply. I saw this and was silent for a moment in order to 
enable myself to give a natural air to my transition from dis- 
appointment to gratitude. Then I answered: 

*• In all this I owe Your Royal Highness the sincerest thanks; 
for not only were you so good as to support my petition, but 
when you saw that success was impossible, you deigned to take 
the trouble to obtain for me a place more in conformity with 
my age and my incapacity .... I lay all my gratitude at Your 
Royal Highness's feet." 

**Say no more, Leonard; you were always devoted to my 
family ; I even * believe * that I have formerly been under a 
personal obligation to you .... You can always rely upon me .... 
Good-day, my friend, good-day." 

I understood that these last words were the dismissal of mon- 
sieur the Orderer-in-Chief of the State Funerals. I left His Royal 
Highness and went to the Hotel de Ville, where I received the 
papers containing my apf)ointment. 

The next day I was installed by the lugubrious administration 
with all the ceremonial due to a high dignitary : like a marshal 
of France, who has come to take over the command of an army, 
I passed in review, in a large courtyard, all the staff who were 
to be under my orders. . . . Those long files of mourners, that 
staff of men in black coats, crape hat- bands, and weepers, and 
those batteries of hearses which defiled before me had certainly 


not the magnificence of a review of the Royal Guards ; and yet 
this curious inspection possessed a certain romantic character : 
it would undoubtedly have inspired a modem Young with one 
of those funereal descriptions which make the delight of the 

At the conclusion of this ceremony, those who took part in 
it offered me a splendid dinner, at which we were very gay ; 
in the evening they took me to the Opera. Which proved to 
me that these gentlemen, although in daily contact, as it were, 
with the dead, none the less knew how to live. 

Nevertheless, when I returned home, I gave way to much 
reflection of a profoundly philosophic character: when one is 
seventy-three years of age and has seen much of the world, one 
is always by way of being a philosopher. . . . And undoubtedly 
there was a very decided grotesqueness about the motley series 
of events which had composed my life. 

Here end the verbal recitals, the notes and documents 
from which have been compiled the Souvenirs of L&)nard. He 
who has collected them ceased, at the end of 1818, to 
see as much as formerly of the ex-coiffeur to Marie Antoi- 
nette: not that his functions as Orderer-General or Inspector-in» 
Chief of State Funerals took up much of his time, but becausey 
being in better circumstances than during the years immediately 
preceding this, he had less occasion to frequent and use his firiends. 

On one occasion alone, it is believed, did L&)nard figure at 
the head of a funeral pn^cession. It was upon the death of the 
old Prince de Conde, which occurred in 181 8, shortly after the 
Orderer-Generars installation. The Prince's mortal remains were 
transferred in state to Saint-Denis; and Leonard was seen pre- 
ceding His defunct Highness's magnificent hearse on horseback, 
in a black coat of curious cut and a Henri IV hat with black 
feathers .... The worthy man had made no progress at ail in 
the art of horsemansliip since his journey to Montm^dy : he 
still held himself in the saddle like the hair-dresser of the Ancien 


Regime that he was .... In fact the Orderer of State Funerals, 
that herald in black who ambled gravely at the head of the 
funeral procession of a Serene Highness, resembled not a little 
the philosophic Sancho .... 

But a year after this solemnity, it became the turn of the 
Orderer-in-Chief; and in 1819 his staff rendered him the same 
honours which he had assisted in rendering to the Prince de 
Conde. Thus ended Leonard, whom hair-dressers to this day 
entitle "The Great." His fortune, composed of nothings; the 
art which he possessed in a higher degree than any other of 
lending to folly an air of elegance; his unfailing audacity: all these 

tend to sum up the period in which his vogue was at its highest 

One might wager that Beaumarchais borrowed more than one 
feature of his Figaro from the original figure of Leonard, the 
Queen's coiffeur. 


VOL. II. 21 




A., II 251. 

Adelaide, Madame, de France, I 172, 

337, II 43, 249. 
Adeline, Mademoiselle, I 32, 284. 
Aiguillon, Due d\ I 49, 50, 51, 

62, 76, loi, 131, 157, 165, 166, 

167, 169, 170, II 192. 
Aiguillon, Due d*. Junior, II 177. 
Alcuida, Due d', II 227. 
Alembert, I 209, 320. 
Alexander I., Czar of All the 

Russias, II 212, 213, 258, 299, 

300. 301. 
Aligre, I 294. 

Ambert, Madame d', II 150. 
Amblimont, Comtesse d*, I 27, 28, 

32. 47- 
Amelia, Princess, of Prussia, II 218, 

Angivilliers, I 197. 
Angouldme, Due d*. J'/dc Louis 

XIX., King of France and Navarre. 
Angouleme, Duchesse d'. Vide Marie 

Th^rise, Queen of France, and 

Anna Louisa, Princess, of Prussia, 

II 208, 210. 
Anne de Beaujeu, I 127. 
Anspach, Margrave of, I 32. 
Anville, Duchesse d\ I 182. 
Arc, Chevalier d', I 39, 41, 59, 65. 
Argental, Comte d', I 209. 
Armand, II 303. 
Arnault, I 219. 
Amould, Sophie, I 32, 37, 59, 

67* 7i» >55' ^72, 223, 254,1184. 


Artois, Comte d*. nd^ Charles X., 

King of France and Navarre. 
Artois, Comtesse d\ I 145, 146, 

147, I53» 160, 179, 188, 209, 

Astley. II 253. 
Augustus II., King of Poland, 

II 160. 
Augustus III., King of Poland, 

I 191. 
Aumale, Vicomtesse d*, I 240. 
Aumont, Due d*, I 46. 
Autun, Bishop of. Fide Talleyrand. 
Avaray, Comte d*, II 152, 245, 

Avinsleben, II 208. 


BaiUy, I 320, 339, 348, II 439. 

Balbi, Comte de, I 217. 

Balbi, Comtesse de, I 217. 219, 

II 146, 153, 154, 167. 
Bancelin, I 17. 
Bamave, II 69. 

Barras, II 258, 280, 284, 287. 
Barry, Comte Jean Du, I 140, 

142, 147, 262. 
Barry, Comtesse Du, I 25, 31, 

45» 46, 4^» 55. 57* 59» 60, 66, 
71, 76, 79, 81, loi, 131, 133, 
138, 140, 147, 157, 158, 163, 
165, 166, 168, 170, 262, II 6, 9, 
II, 176, 177, 180, 181, 185, 188, 

»9i, i95» 196, i97» 201, 231. 
Barthe, I 64, 223. 
Bassano, Due de, II 229. 
Baudeau, Abb6, I 182. 





Baztn, I 217. 

Beaiiharnais, Comtcsse de, I 7, 278. 

Beauharnais, Vicomte de, I 281. 

Beauharnais, Vicomtesse de. Vide 
Josephine, Empress of the French. 

Beaujon, II 232. 

Beaumarchais. I 162, 179,252,291, 
321, II 321. 

Beaumont, Christophe de, Arch- 
bishop of Paris, I 107, 109. 

Bcauvais, Abb6, I 136. 

Beauvaii, Marshal Due de, II 7. 

Beauvoisin, Mademoiselle de, I 255. 

Bellemour, Marquis de, 11 135. 

Berlin, 1 79. 

Bernard, I 15, 37. 

Bernis, Cardinal de, I 108, 319. 

Berr>', Due de, I 343, II 316, 317. 

Berry, Duchesse de, II 319. 

Bertha, II 112. 114, 118. 

Berthollet, I 277. 

Bertin, Rose, I 91, 93, 94, 95, 
116, 119, 121, 161, 163, 180, 
183, 186, 195, 203, 208, 219, 
221, 234, 245, 282, II 6, II, 
27, 28, 58, 67, 309. 

Bertinazzi. I'l'di' Carlin. 

Bcrtrand-Moliville, Marquis de, II 28, 
180, 181. 

Bczenval, Baron de, I 159, 195, 

232, 241, 299, 335> 338- 
Biron, Marshal Due de, I 182, 

192, 293. 
Blache. II 183, 185, 233. 
Blanchard, I 260, 261. 
Bluchcr, Marshal, II 235. 
Bohmer, I 219. 

Bois d'Aisy, Baronne de, II 157- 
Boislard, I 187, 234, 282. 
Boismont, Abbe de, I 317. 
Boufflers, Chevalier de, I 106. 
Bouille, Marquis de, I 43, 52, 

54, 66, 67, 144, 180. 
Boulanjj^er, General, I 83. 
Bourbon, Due de, I lOi, 149,343. 
Bourbon, Duchesse de, I 254. 
Bouverot, Madame de, II 147. 
Boynes, I 167. 
Breteuil, Baron de, I 252, 253, 

301, 319, II 180, 181. 
Brissac, Due de, II 7, 195, 198, 

Brojjlie, Marshal Due de, I 334. 

Brunswick, Duke of; II 143, 155, 174. 
BufTon, I 319. 

Buonaparte. Vid^ Napoleon I., Em- 
peror of the French. 


Cadoudal, II 257, 258. 
Cagliostro, Count, I 267, 269. 
Cagliostro, Countess, I 267, 270. 
Calonne, I 258, 275, 297, 298, 

II 158, 181. 
Calonne, Madame de, II 179. 
Campan, Madame, I 186, 225. 324, 

II 3, II, 31, 71. 
Campos, II 227, 230. 
Carlin, I 68, 109, 179. 
Carlos, Don. Vide Charles VII„ 

King of Spain, and XI. of France. 
Carlyle, I 72, 1 14, 253, 258. 277, 

320, 335, n 26. 
Caron, II 303. 
Cathelineau, II 236. 

Catherine I., Czarina of All the 

Russias, n 300. 
Catherine 11., Czarina of All the 

Russias, I 55, 145, 191. 319. 

321, 347, n 42, 143, 237, 238, 

239. 297» 299- 
Cayla, Comtesse de, I 219. 

Cazal^, II 70. 

Chabanon, I 320. 

Chamisat, Madame de, II 155. 

Champcenetz, Chevalier de, I 137. 

Chapellier, II 70. 

Charette, 11 235, 236. 

Charles, Prince, of Augostenburg, 

I 273. 

Charles, Archduke, of Austria, II 
236, 256, 276. 

Charies IV., King of England. Vide 
Charles Emmanuel IV., King of 

Charles VIII., King of France aod 
Navarre, I 127. 

Charles X., King of France, I 83, 
III, 113, 114, 119, 120, I4S« 
146, 147, 153, 157, 187, 209. 
213, 214, 217, 231, 232, 253, 
284* 294. 339, 342, 345, 347* 
n 5, 15, 138, 143, 149, 15a, 
154, 167, 169. 171, 174. iSi, 
218, 222, 225. 229, 236, 137. 



304* 307» 308' 309» 310. 313' 
, 314. 315' 318. 
Charles XL, King of France and 

Navarre. Vide Charles VII., King 

of Spain. 
Charles III., King of Spain, I 213, 

n 193. 

Charles VII., King of Spain, I 326. 
Charles Emmanuel IV., King of 

Sardinia, I 246. 
Charlotte, Queen of Great Britain 

and Ireland, I 205. 
Chartres, Due de. Vide 5 th Due 

Chartres, Duchesse de. Vide wife 

of 5 th Due d'Orl^ans. 
ChastcUux, Marquis de, I 300. 
Chateaubnm, I 317. 
Chaugy, Comtesse de, II 156. 
Chaulieu, Abb6 de, I 37. 
Chauvelin, Marquis de, II 181, 

185, 188, 194. 
Chaux, Abb6 de la, I 277. 
Ch^nard, I 304. 
Cheron, I 321. 
Chevert, II 160. 
Chimay, Princesse de, I 186. 
Choiseul, Due de, I 27, 31, 49, 

51, 71, 76, 170, 319, II 192. 
Choiseul-Gouffier, Comte de, I 319, 

II 229. 
Clairon, I 32, 37. 
Clarges, Lady, II 188. 
Clement VIII. , Pope, I 179. 
Clement XIV., Pope, I 68, 107, 

139. 145' 179- 
Clerfayt, Count, II 143. 

Clotilde, Queen of England and 

Sardinia, I 246. 
Coburg, Frederick Prince of Saxe-, 

II 200, 228, 235. 
Coigny, Due de, I 159, 169, 176, 

183, 195, 232, 299. 
Cond6, Prince de, I loi, 303, 343, 

II 148, 169, 170, 236, 253, 320. 
Cond6, the Grand, 1 102, II 253. 
Conflans, I 96. 

Contat, Mademoiselle, I 256, II 15. 
Conti, Princesse de, I 92, 93. 
Corday, Charlotte, II 216, 234. 
Cottereau, II 236. 
Cr^billon flSy II 21. 
Cr^billon pere^ II 21. 

Crest, Marquis [Du, I 315. 

Crosne, I 302. 

Crowe, I 247. 

Crussol, II 179. 

Crussol, Madame de, II 179, 181. 

Cubi^rcs, Chevalier de, I 7. 

Cujas, I 8. 

Cuvelier de Trye, II 284. 


Dag6, I 5. 

Damas-Crux, II 151. 

Damiens, I 218. 

Danton, II 228. 

Dauberval, I 112, 115, 117, 158. 

Dauphin, the, eldest son to Louis 
XVL, I 220, 229, 238, 284. 

Dauphin, the, second son to Louis 
XVI. See Louis XVII., King of 

Decazes, Due, I 247, 299. 

Delabre, II 148. 

Deliant, U 198. 

Delille, Abb6, I 277, 297, 320. 

Delvinski, Count Stanislas, II 81, 
83, 109, 116, 121, 127, 128, 
129, 131, 133, 188, 189, 203, 
215, 237, 240, 284, 310. 

Delvinski, Countess Isabella, II 114, 

116, 119, 120, 123, 127. 
Demidoff, Count, II 294, 295. 
Demidoff, Countess, II 294. 
Denis, Madame de, I 210. 
Dervieu, Mademoiselle, II 84. 
D^sentelles, I 306. 
Desfontaines, I 303. 
Deville, II 179. 
Diable, I 44* 45' 55' ^ 123. 
Digoine, Marquis de, II 144, 147. 
Dillon, I 159, 196, 232, 234, 299 
Dorat, I 7, 37, 64, 131, 278. 
Dorval, Mademoiselle, I 217, 259. 
Douglas, II 234. 
Dreux-Br6z^, Marquis de, I 335. 
Dubois, Chevalier, I 297. 
Duchdtelet, Madame, I 320. 
Dudreneuc, Marquis de, II 150. 
Dudreneuc, Marquise de, II, 150. 
Dumas, II 233. 
Duinesnil, Mademoiselle, 37. 
Dumouriez, II 156, 168, 174, 228. 
Dupont de Nemours, I 182. 


INDEX OF PERSONS Due dc, I io6. 221. 
Durfort, Madame de, I 106. 
Durosoy, I 161. 

Duthe, Mademoiselle, I 32, 95, iii, 
113, 124, 264, II 84. 



Elisabeth, Madame, de France, I 
2iO, 313, II I, 42, 49, 56, 222, 
224, 225. 

Elisabeth Alexicona. Czarina of All 
the Russias, II 299, 301. 

Enjjhien, Due d', I 10 1. 

Entraigues, I 96. 

Eon, Chevalier d', I 203, II 80, 290. 

Eselaux, I 273. 

Espremcsnil, I 334. 

Esterhazy, Prince of, II 170. 


Favras, Marquis dc, I 348. 
Ferdinand, Prince, of Prussia, II 

Fernel, Dom, II 272, 274. 
Fernu-is, II 228. 
Fersen, Coimi, 1 272, II 62, 65, 

Flaehlandcn, Baron de, II 150. 
Flessclles, I 340. 
Fleur}-, I 37, 261. 
ForgeL Mademoiselle, I 94, 97. 
Fournier, II 233. 
Fox, II 151. 
Francic?n, I 45, 46, 48. 
Francis II., Emperor of Germany, 

I 326, II 222, 254, 256. 
Franconi, II 253, 284. 
Franklin, I 287. 
Frederic II, Kinj; of Prussia, I 

145. 257, II 87, 88, 89, 102, 

104, 208, 211, 218, 219. 
Frederic William II, Kinj,' of 

Prussia, I 347, II 234, 283!" 
Frederic William III., Kiiij; of 

Prussia, II 21 1. 
Fre^'osse, Dom. II 268. 271, 274, 

Fremont, T 4, 17, 86. ()o, 129, 

18;, 329. H yy, 2V). 
Frol..-, Chovali'.T (I.», II 151. 
Fnmsac, Due de, I 306. 


Gaillard, I 277, 

Gaillardet, I 205. 

Gardel, I 157. 

Gauthier, Abbi, I 210. 

Gaya, Madame de, I 201. 

Garat, I 259. 

Gcnlis, Comte dc, I 114, 264. II 

14, 16, 19, 28. 
Gcnlis, Comtcsse de, I 114, 263, 

II 21. 
George III, King of Great Britain 

and Ireland, I 157, 162, 205, 

II. 79. 256. 
George IV., King of Great Britain 

and Ireland, I 205, II 22. 
Georges, Mademoiselle, 11 301. 
Gibert, Marquis de, II 148. 
Gliick, Chevalier, I 169. 
Go^zman, I 162. 
Goncourt, I 15, 32, 94. 
Gontaut, Duchesse de, II 315. 
Gonthier, Madame, I 305. 
Gossec, II 96. 

Grammont, Madame de, I 28. ^i 
266. ^ 

Granval, I 63. 

Gregory XV., Pope, 262. 

Greive, II 232. 

Gr6try, I 261, 304. 

Grimm, Baron, I 55. 

Guemen6e, Prince de, I 249. 

Gu6menfee, Princesse de, I 192, 193. 
196, 203, 238, 250. 

Guibert, Comte dc, I 320. 

Guichc, Due de, I 266, 349. 

Guichesse, Duchesse de, I 266. 

Guillotin, Dr., I 189. 

Guimard, Mademoiselle, I 32, 37, 

52, S<>t 137. 140, 234, 250, 
252, II 84, 269. 

Gusuivus II. (Adolphus), King of 

Sweden, II 21 1. 
Gustavus III., King of Sweden, I 

88, 171, 347. II 65. 


Harcourl, II 256. 
Hautefort, Comte dc, II 149. 
Ilenin, Prince d\ I 55, 155. H 87. 
Jlenin, Princesse d', II 135. 180. 



Henr>' IX., Kinj; of England, II 22. 
Henry II., King of France, I 289. 
Henry IV., King of France and 

Navarre, I 146. 
Henry, Prince, of Prussia, I 257. 
H6ron, II 233. 
Hervilly, Comtc d', II 236. 
Hochc, II 236. 

Hohcnlohe, Prince, II 146, 161, 174. 
Hondelot, Madame d', I 320. 
Hozier de S^vigny, I 289. 

Ivan VI., Czar of All the Russias, 
II 239. 


Jarente, Bishop of Orleans, I 29, 

107, 137, 140, 143, 252. 
Jarnac, Comte de, II 138. 
Jonville, II 156. 

Joseph, Dom, II 262, 269, 270, 31 1. 
Joseph II., Emperor of Germany, I 


Josephine, Queen of France and 
Navarre, I 105, 115, 145, 159, 
209, 217, 219, 338, II 309. 

Josephine, Empress of the French, 
I 279. 

Jourdan, II 228, 235, 236. 

Julie, I II, 18, 31, 34, 38, 42, 
43, 55, II 81, 83, 99, 100, 105, 
109, 187, 191, 195, 202, 205, 
206, 210, 214, 237, 240, 259, 
262, 277, 284, 310. 


Kolckcnter, II 208. 
Kornmann, I 162. 
Knsciuszko. II 237, 238. 
Kourakin, I'rincess, I 191. 


La Blachc, I 162. 

La Borde, I 55, 140. 

La Chalre. 1 233. 

Lacioix, II 228. 

Lafayetle, Manjuis do. I 247, 285, 

300, 34.S, 340, 351, II 39, 40, 

58. 6r, 64, 65. 

La Harpe, I 7, 263, 277, 320. 
Lalande, I 131, 132. 
I^ Maisonfort, II 156. 
Lamballe, Prince de, I 164, 185, 196. 
Lamballe, Princesse de, I 185, 192, 
203, 219, 289, 291, 307, 324, 

IJ 3» 5» 3i» 42» 71. 72. 
Lambert, Dom, II 268, 271, 274, 

Lambesc, Prince de, I 336. 

Lameth, I 247. 

Lamoignon, I 293, 297, 320. 

La Motte, Comte de, I 299. 

La Motte, Comtesse de, I 267, 271, 
284, 288, 299, 307, II 98, 105, 

Landran, Comte de, I 257. 

Langeac, Marquis de, I 59, 62, 329. 

Langeac, Marquise de, I 34, 44, 45, 
51. 52, 53» 59» 62, 73, 77, 79, 
88, 90, 107, 120, 130, 140, 143, 
146, 160, 169, 172, 176, 185, 328. 

Laplace, Marquis de, I 277. 

La Porte, II 28. 

La Queuille, Marquis de, II 144. 

La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, Due de, 

I 340. 341- 
Larsenneur, I 35, 36, 51, 73, 79, 

80, 82. 
La Tour, I 76. 
Latour d'Auvergne, II 160. 
Latour-Maubourg, Marquis de, II 75. 
L'Attaignant, I 25, 370. 
Latude, II 219. 
Launay, Marquis de, I 340. 
Lauraguais, Comte de, I 71, 76, 154. 
Laure, I 12, 17, 18, II 259, 261, 

27(>, 278, 311. 
Lauvois, II 87. 

Lauzun, Comte de, I 136, 159. 
Lauzun, Due de, I 159, 191, 195, 

232, 245, II 87. 
Lavau, Mademoiselle, I 261. 
Lavoisier, I 71, 277. 
La Vrillidre, Due de, I 34, 103, 167. 
Leblond, II 300. 
Lc Bouhour, Madame, II 175. 
Legros, I 4, 10, 17, 27, 32, 36, 

45, 86. 
Lenoir, I 253. 
Leo X., Pope, I 223. 
Leopold II., Emperor of Germany, 

1 326. 



T-cpclticr, ('omle Lcniis, II 156. 
Lcsparrc, Madame dc, 1 219. 
L'Espinassc, Mademoiselle dc, I 320. 
L'Espinassc-I^ngeac, Comtc dc, II 

l.icsingcn. Baron dc, II 149. 
Lignc, Prince de, I 206. 
Liszt, Abb6, I 30. 
Lominie dc Bricnnc, Archbishop of 

Toulouse, I 35, 287, 291, 320. 
Longiicvillc, Duchcssc de, II 248. 
Lorenzo de Medicis, I 223. 
Lorraine, Duke of, I 49. 
Losme-Sclbray, I 340. 
LouLs, Dr., I 188, 212. 
Louis XL, King of France, II 293. 
Louis XII., King of France, I 127, 

II 309. 
Louis XrV., King of France and 

Navarre, I 3, 49, 164, 185, II 3, 

22, 172, 293, 
L(niis XV., King of France and 

Navarre, I 28, 30, 31, 36, 83, 

48, 74, 80, 81, 100, 103, 104, 

105, 114, 117, 129, 130, 133, 

134. 137. 138, 139. I5i» '64, 

167, 171, 340, II 181, 219, 248. 
Louis XVI., King of France and 

Navarre, I 3, 60, 75, TJ, 80, 83, 

no, III, 114, 117, 120, 128, 

157. 165, 167, 172, 17b, 177, 

180, 183, 188, 197, 206, 209, 

212, 214, 217, 219, 234, 235, 

238, 242, 249. 254, 260, 268, 

273. 286, 292, 293, 295, 296, 

313^ 323* 326. 333» 34O' 347* 
348, II I, 5, 22, 25, 27, 35, 37, 

38, 39, 40, 42, 47, 48, 49, 55» 

57, 62, 64, 65, 67, 69, 71, 172, 

197, 224. 256, 263, 307. 

Louis XVII., King of Prance and 
Navarro, I 284, II I, 47, 48. 49, 
56, 57, 71, 216. 222, 225, 237. 

Louis XVIII., King of France and 
Navarre, I 83, 84, 106, ill, 159 
176, 197, 198, 209, 212, 213, 
217, 219, 247, 283, 294, 299, 

320. 335. 33«. 343. 347« 348, 

II 26, 75, 144, 146, 152, 154, 

155, 160, 164, 167, 168. 216, 

222, 223, 225, 227, 229, 231, 

236, 237, 240, 241, 243, 244, 

247» 253, 254, 256, 283, 285, 

286, 287, 289, 291, 303, 304, 

305* 307* 3<8, 309, 310. 312, 

Louis XIX., King of France and 

Navarre, I 188, 343, II 256. 304, 

309. 314, 315. 
Louis, Prince, of Prussia, II 208, 211. 
Louis-Philippe, King of the Frendi. 

I 163. II 181, 229. 
Louise, Madame, de France, I 172, 

241, 244, II 43, 248. 
Louvois, I 96. 
Lucette, II 14, 27, 28, 40, 45, 76, 

183, 194, 195, 200, 221, 231, 

311, 312, 316, 318. 
Luckner, Marshal, II 146. 174. 
Lugeac, Marquis, I 50. 
Lyons, Archbishop of. Vide Montazet. 

Mailly, Madame de, I 186, 196. 

Maldzane, Madame de, II 209. 

Malcsherbes, I 268, 293, 294, 320. 

Mallet-Dupan, II 29. 

Manuel, II 30. 

Marat, II 216, 227, 229. 

Marceau, II 279. 

Maria Fcodorovna, Czarina of All 

the Russias, II 290, 292, 299. 
Maria Luisa, Queen of Spain, II 193. 
Maria Theresa, Empress of Germany, 

I 75» 80. "^n^ 186, 195, 209. 

II 42, 91, 247. 

Marie Antoinette, Queen of France 
and Navarre. I 35, 36, 37, 45, 46. 
48, 51, 60, 62, 71, 79, 81, 86, 
87, 88, 91, 93, 107, no, 114. 
119, 120, 128, 130, 132, 14a 

'43' I45» 157. 159* »6^ ^^3' 

165, 167, 168, 170, 172, 175' 

176, 177, 183, 185, 188, 190, 

197, 200, 203, 206, 209, 212, 

217, 218, 221, 225, 229, 231, 

234, 238, 240, 242, 248, 249, 

254, 256, 259, 263, 272, 281. 

283, 287, 288, 291, 293, 296. 

298^ 299, 301, 307, 310, 313, 

3«4' 317* 319. 324* 326, 330* 

333* 338* 340^ 347. 350* " »' 
2. 3, 6, 9, 27, 35, 36, 38, 40, 

42, 47, 48, 49. 56, 57, 60, 61. 

62, 64, 67, 69, 71. 73, 76, 91. 



98. 134* 138, 144' 148, 167, 

171, 172, 174, 216. 222, 224, 

225. 227, 231, 234. 241, 247, 

248, 290. 
Marie Leczinska, Queen of France 

and Navarre, I 171. 
Marie Th^r^se, Queen of France 

and Navarre, I 213, II i, 48, 

49. 56* 57. 222. 229, 256, 304, 

308, 314, 315. 316, 317. 
Mariet, II 177. 
Marij^y, Marquis de, I 157. 
Marin, I 162. 

Marmontel, I 7, 62, 277, 320. 
Mary II., Queen of England, II 22. 
Marsena, Marshal, II 239. 
Maupcou, I 10 1, 128, 131, 165, 

167. 170. 
Maurepas, Comte de, I 165, 172, 

180, 183. 
Maury, Cardinal, I 320. 
Maussabr^, II 193, I95- 
Mazarin, Cardinal, I 139, II 248. 
Mazarin, Duchesse de, I 108, 130. 
Mazarin, Mademoiselle de, I 131. 
M6nageot, I 278. 
Mercier, I 113, 177. 
Michnlon, II 303. 
Mignot, Abbe, I 210. 
Milan, Archduke of, II 228. 
Mirabeau, Comte de, I 335, 339, 

II II, 22, 25, 27, 28, 34, 36, 38. 
Miral)eau, Marquis de, II 30. 
Miiabeau, Vicomte de, II 169. 
Mirabeau, Vicomtesse de, II 170. 
Mirepoix, Mar6chale de, I 38. 
Misery, Comtesse de, I 76, 81, 82, 

93» 94' "5' 116, 186, 308. 
M0I6, I 63, 173. 
Molina, I 179. 
Monde, van der, I 277. 
Monnier, Marquise de, II 30. 
Montansier, Mademoiselle, I 234, 284. 
Montazet, Archbishop of Lyons, I 130. 
Montbarrey, Prince de, I 198. 
Montbazon, Duchesse de, I 226. 
Montchal, II 139. 
Montespan, Marquise de, 1 136, 164. 
Montesson, Marquise de, I 10 1, 104, 

261, 264. 
Montmorency, Marquise de, I 138. 
Morande, I 156. 
Moreau, II 228, 236, 258. 

Morel, I 261. 

Morin, II 199. 

Mortemarl, Duchesse de, II 180. 

Mouchy, Duchesse de, I 185. 

Muy, Marshal Comte de, I 171. 


Nanette, II 267, 270. 

Napoleon I., Emperor of the French, 
I loi, 129, 186, 247, 253, 277, 
320, II 75, 212, 224, 229, 231, 
235. 257, 258, 287, 291. 

Narbonne, Comte de, I 265. 

Neckcr, I 253, 264, 268, 335, 341, 

Nicola'i, I 288. 

Nicolet, I II, 14, 18, 21, 25, 26, 

27' 35' 37. 

Noaillcs, Comtesse dc, I 73, 81, 

107, 116, 145, 185. 
N06I, II 234. 
Norkitten, Landgrave of, II 84, 100, 

no, 114, 215, 124. 
Norkitten, Landgravine of. l^tde Julie. 
Normandic, Due de. V/di: Louis 

XVII., King of France and Navarre. 
Noverre, I 298. 


Orleans, Bishop of. Fide Jarente. 
Oricans, 3rd Due d', I 309. 
Orleans, 4th Due d', I. 10 1, 164, 

261, 264, 277, II 168. 
Orleans, 5th Due d*, I 95, 97, II 3, 

116, 127, 146, 149, 164, 236 263, 

264, 277,297,313,315,327,339, 

348, II II, 19, 22, 25, 26, 27, 

28, 37, 87, 168. 
Orleans, wife of 4th Due d'. Vide 

Montesson, M:irquise de 
Orleans, wife of 5th Due d\ I 92, 

93' 95' 163, 300. 
Orleans. 6th Due d*. Fide Louis 

Philippe, King of the French. 
Orloff, I 191. 
Ormesson, I 268. 
Orval, Mademoiselle d*, I 284. 
Ossun, Mademoiselle d', I 284. 
Otranto, Due d', II 312. 


Paix, Princede la, II 193. 



Palissfit de Montenoy. I 278. 
Paris, Archbishop of. Vide Beaumont. 
Parny, Chevalier dc, I 35^- 
Pascal. I 216. 

Paul I„ Ciar of All the Russias. I 
357. n 239, 283, aS;, 289. 290, 

291. 299. aoi- 302- 

Paul v.. Pope, I 179. 

Peliasier. II 10. 

Panthidvrc, Due de, I 164, 185. 

Peter I„ Ciar of All the Russias, 11 

Peter III., Czar of All the Russias. 

I 191. 
Pition, n 69. 
Picdni. I 169. 
Pichegni, II 236, 257, 258. 
Picot. Madame, I 2S2. 
Piron, I 7, t5, 197. 
Piti, II 188. 192, 2O0. 228. 256. 

Pius VI., Pope, I 320. 

Pius VII., Pope, I 320. 

Plnokett, Mist, I 300. 

Poinsitiet. I 63. 

PoiDsioet de Sivr)-, I 7, 63. 

Polastroo, Vicomtcsse, II 315. 

Pompadour, Marquise de, I $. 66, 

76, loS, 165, II 219. 
Poligtiac, Diichessc Jules de, I 196, 

2O0, 209, 217. 218, 231, 241, 
252. 253, 283, 291. 299, 307, 

324, 340, 11 5, 9. 10. 
Polif^ac, Prince Jules de, I 217. 
Ponialowski. Prince Joseph, II 238. 
Polcnikin, I 191. 
I'nnceteau, Madame. I 219. 
I'rinzcn, Baronnc de. I 161. 
Procope, I 6. 
Comle de Provence. r.Jf Louis 

XVIII., Kinc of France and Na- 


Queen ..f Fiance and Navarre. 
Piiis^vi', 11 236. 

Radii <ic Sainle-Foix, I 131. 

K,imcaii, I 169. 

Rancourl, Mademoi^Hle. I 129, 131, 

169, 172, 175. too, 3o6, 256 

283. II 177. 
Ricamier, Madame, II >l>. 
Regniud de SatDt-Jcan-d'Aog^y. 

Comte, II 312. 
Renaud, MadctnoiselJe, I 304. 
Rttif de la Breloane, I 15. 
Rcy, Madame. I III. 
Rheims, Archbishop of, I 71. 
Richelieu, Cardinal Doc de, I loi. 
Richelieu, Marshal Doc dc, I 201, 

306, 319. 
Richard, I iSo. 
Richard, Madame, I 180. 
Robespierre, II >OI, 116, 133, 225, 


Roland, Madame, II 234. 
Rome, King of. n 301. 
Rnnsard de Saint-James, I 2JJ. 
Rosiire, I 305. 
Roubaud, Abbi, I i8a. 
Rousseau. I 211. 
Rulhiires, I 319. 


Saba thin, I 34. 
Saint-Far, II 180. 
Saint-Floreotin. I 112. 
Sainl-Geoq^, Chevalier de, 11 1G8. 
Sainf-Germain, Comte de, I 197. 
Saint-Jnst, II 217. 
Saint-Lambert, Marquis de. [ 320. 
Saint-Pierre, I 278. 
Saint-Priest, Comte de, II l6>. 
Saint- Vincent. Madame de, I aoj- 
SainviUe, II 80. 
Salieri. I 321. 
Salis. II 228. 

Sanck, Mademoiselle, I 207. 
Sa^tine^ I 134, 11 311. 
Sa^e-Gotha, Duke of, I 55. 
Schaek. II 208. 
Seguter. I 294. 
S6gur. Marquis de, II 10. 
Sigur, Vicomte de, I 147, 259. 
S^monville. Marquis de, II, )39. 
Senez, Bishop of. See Beannis. 
Simiane. Comle de. I 285. 
Simiane. Comtesse de, I 185. 



Sophie, Madame, de France, I 172, 

335, II 43, 251. 
Soubise, Chevalier de, I 227. 
Soubise, Prince de, I 55, 140, 250, 

Souvaroff, Count, II 239, 288, 290. 
Spencer, I^idy, I 83. 
Suiel, Baronne de, I 264, II 212. 
Stanislaus II., King of Poland, I 171, 

191, II 238. 
Stasse, Madame de, II 209. 
Sterne, II 244. 
Stockwasser, II 282. 
Stofflet, II 236. 
Sulleau, I 137. 


T., II 80, 91, 96, 97. 

T., Junior, II 317, 318. 

T., Madame, II 77, 91, 99, lOO, 

132, I35» 191. 200, 217. 
laconnct, I 14. 
Talleyrand, II 40, 181. 
lallcvrand d'Archambaud, I 266. 
Tallien, I 258. 

Tallicn, Madame, I 258, 280. 
Terray, Abb6, I 72, 10 1, 139, 167, 

Thierry, I 199. 
Thoniassin, I 304. 
1 huisy, Manjuis de, II 155. 
rhurisl, II 230. 
Tilly, C(»unl, II 21 1. 
Toulouse, Archbishop of. I'l'dv Lo- 

m6nie de Hrienne. 
Torlay, Mademoiselle, I 247. 
Trailiii, II 161. 

Trtiick, Francis Baron, II 2 1 8. 
Trcnck, Fn.deric Baron, II 218, 220. 
lur^ni, I 171, 182, 268. 


Usson, Comtesse d', I 97. 


Vaiiv s. I 182. 

Vahniinois, ("omlt^sso de, I 106. 
Val(»is, Due (Ic, K/i/f* I. ouis Philippe, 
Kir)<' <»f ilu' French. 

V'andenyver, II 92, 98, 182, 201, 

231* 233. 
Vanier, I 232. 
Vaudrcuil, Marquis de, I 159, 176, 

'94* 195' 232, 241, 252. 253. 
Venlzel, I 236. 
Verdun, Bishop of, I 151. 
Vergennes, Comte de, I 1 7 1, 182. 
Vermont, Abb6 de. I 35, 36, 79. 
Vcymeranges, I 284. 
Viccnce, Due de, II 301. 
Victoire, Madame, de France, I 172, 
^ 335* n 43, 250. 
Vienne, Marquis de, II 174. 
Vilanot, II 76, 221. 
Villcquicr, Due de, II 147. 
Villeroy, Duchesse de, I 47. 
Villette, Marquis de, I 2IO. 
Villevielle, Marquis de, I 210. 
Vine)', Baron de, II 15 1. 
Viomenil, Baron dc, I 193. 
Viotti, II 168. 
Volanjje, I 223. 
Voltaire, I 7, 55, 71, 107, 108, 

208, 210, II 218, 219, 270. 


Waldeck, Prince of, II 146. 
Washington, I 248, 287, II 237. 
Weissemw(»lff, Comte de, II 1 5 1. 
Wicom, II 175. 
Wilhclmina, Margravine ofBavreuth, 

II 211. 
William, II 80. 91, 93. 97, 182, 

183, 185, 191, 193. 
William, Miss, II 93, 96, 97. 
William, Mrs., II 93. 
William Junior, II 93, 96, 97. 
William III., Kingof England, II 22. 
Wimpfrn, II 147. 
Wurmser, Count, II 75, 236, 255. 


York. Duke of, II 200, 234. 


Zamor, II 232. 




II 1 


1 a I 


i i